I 


EOBEET    BKOWNING 


;^»feft.. 


i;-^%«.,. 


/Uhu   ^^i^^^U  z^'.^i'o 


M<y6^yt  3'. 


1859  ^ 


LIFE  AND  LETTEKS  OF 

KOBERT   BROWNING 

BY 

MRS.  SUTHERLAND  ORR 


NEW  EDITION 
REVISED  AND  IN  PART  REWRITTEN 

BY 

FREDERIC  G.  KENYON 


WITH  TWO  PORTRAITS 


BOSTON  AND   NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


PREFACE 

TO    REVISED    EDITION 

Since  the  original  appearance  of  Mrs.  Sutterland  Orr's 
Life  and  Letters  of  Robert  Browning  in  1891,  the  materials 
for  the  poet's  biography  have  greatly  increased.  The 
Letters  of  Robert  Browning  and  Elizabeth  Barrett  Barrett 
supply  a  detailed  history  of  the  years  1845-6,  the  critical 
period  of  his  courtship  and  marriage.  The  Letters  of 
Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning  carry  on  the  narrative  over 
the  whole  of  his  married  life,  from  1846  to  1861.  Both 
volumes  throw  retrospective  light  on  the  earlier  years  of 
his  life ;  and  these  have  been  further  illustrated  by  the 
letters  to  Alfred  Domett,  published  in  Robert  Browning 
and  Alfred  Domett.  In  consequence,  for  a  considerable 
part  of  the  poet's  career,  Mrs.  Orr's  work  was  out  of  date. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  greater  portion  of  it  retained  all 
its  original  value ;  and  having  been  written  by  a  personal 
friend,  and  with  help  from  members  of  the  family,  it 
would  have  been  a  pity  to  allow  it  to  drop  out  of  exist- 
ence and  become  inaccessible.  It  has  accordingly  been 
thought  best  to  issue  a  new  edition,  in  which  all  has  been 


vi         PREFACE   TO   REVISED  EDITION 

retained  that  could  be  retained,  and  such  corrections, 
additions,  and  revisions  have  been  made  as  seemed  to  be 
necessary. 

The  amount  of  revision  differs  considerably  in  different 
parts  of  the  book.  The  chapter  relating  to  Browning's 
courtship  and  marriage  (Chapter  IX.)  has  been  wholly 
re-written.  The  chapters  (X.-XIV.)  relating  to  his  married 
life  have  been  somewhat  freely  re-arranged  and  amplified, 
both  in  order  to  use  some  of  the  new  material  now  avail- 
able and  to  correct  certain  mistakes  in  chronology  into 
which  Mrs.  Orr  had  fallen ;  but  Mrs.  Orr's  work  and 
words  have  been  retained  as  far  as  possible.  In  the 
account  of  the  poet's  last  illness  and  death,  a  narrative 
written  by  Mr.  R.  Barrett  Browning,  who  was  present 
at  the  time,  has  been  substituted  for  some  of  Mrs.  Orr'a 
original  paragraphs.  Elsewhere  the  alterations  in  the  text 
are  smaller,  and  consist  mainly  of  brief  corrections  of  state- 
ments of  fact,  alterations  of  phrases  no  longer  applicable, 
insertion  of  dates,  and  the  like ;  while  such  additions  or 
comments  as  seemed  necessary  have  been  relegated  to  the 
notes,  where  they  are  distinguished  from  Mrs.  Orr's 
original  notes  by  being  enclosed  between  square  brackets. 
At  the  end,  two  appendices  have  been  added,  one  giving 
a  catalogue  of  the  extant  portraits  of  the  poet,  the  other 
a  statement  as  to  the  present  homes  of  the  original  manu- 
scripts of  his  works.  A  new  portrait  has  been  introduced, 
in  addition  to  that  by  his  son — the  last — which  formed 


PREFACE  TO   REVISED  EDITION        vii 

the  frontispiece  of  the  original  edition.  This  is  the  pencD 
sketch  made  by  Frederic  Leighton  in  Rome  in  1859, 
which  has  never  previously  been  published,  and  makes  its 
first  appearance  appropriately  in  a  book  written  by  Lord 
Leighton's  sister. 

From  this  statement  it  will  be  clear  that  no  attempt 
has  been  made  to  rewrite  Mrs.  Orr's  book,  except  where 
it  was  absolutely  necessary.  Probably  the  total  amount 
of  change  is  less  than  she  would  herself  have  made  if  she 
had  lived  to  undertake  the  revision ;  for  a  writer  feels 
more  free  to  re-handle  his  own  work  than  another  person 
can  be.  On  certain  questions — ^for  example,  on  Browning's 
health,  on  his  religious  views,  on  his  attitude  towards  his 
wife's  interest  in  spiritualism — she  held  strong  opinions 
which  did  not  commend  themselves  to  others  who  were 
in  a  good  position  to  judge ;  and  some  of  her  literary 
criticisms  are  at  least  open  to  question.  Nevertheless, 
since  the  book  is  primarily  and  mainly  hers,  it  seems 
proper  to  leave  it  to  express  her  opinions,  and  to  confine 
alterations  to  matters  of  fact.  A  new  hand  might  write 
a  new  biography,  in  which  all  the  materials  now  avail- 
able might  be  freely  handled  and  disposed  ;  but  it  will 
soon  be  impossible  for  this  to  be  done  by  any  one  who 
enjoyed  the  poet's  friendship,  and  with  the  personal  ac- 
quaintance with  him  and  his  surroundings  which  gives 
character  to  Mrs.  Orr's  work.  The  work  of  the  present 
editor  has  aimed  solely  at  making  a  valuable  book  more 


viii       PREFACE  TO   REVISED  EDITION 

serviceable  to  future  generations  of  students  and  lovers  of 

Robert  Browning. 

In  executing  this  task  he  has  had  the  encouragement 

and  assistance  of  the  poet's  son,  Mr.  E.  Barrett  Browning, 

to  whom  his  thanks  for  present  and  past  kindnesses  are 

gratefully  offered. 

F.  G.  K. 

January  15,  1908b 


PKEFAOE 

TO    THE    FIRST    EDITION 

Such  letters  of  Me.  Browning's  as  appear,  whole  or  in 
part,  in  the  present  volume  have  been  in  most  cases  given 
to  me  by  the  persons  to  whom  they  were  addressed,  or 
copied  by  Miss  Browning  from  the  originals  under  her 
care ;  but  I  owe  to  the  daughter  of  the  Rev.  W.  J.  Fox — 
Mrs.  Beidell  Fox — those  written  to  her  father  and  to 
Miss  Flower  ;  the  two  interesting  extracts  from  her 
father's  correspondence  with  herself  and  Mr,  Browning's 
note  to  Me.  Robeetson. 

For  my  general  material  I  have  been  largely  indebted 
to  Miss  Beowning.  Her  memory  was  the  only  existing 
record  of  her  brother's  boyhood  and  youth.  It  has  been 
to  me  an  unfailing  as  well  as  always  accessible  authority 
for  that  subsequent  period  of  his  life  which  I  could  only 
know  in  disconnected  facts  or  his  own  fragmentary 
reminiscences.  It  is  less  true,  indeed,  to  say  that  she 
has  greatly  helped  me  in  writing  this  short  biography 
than  that  without  her  help  it  could  never  have  been 
undertaken. 

a  3 


X        PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION 

I  thank  my  friends  Mrs.  R.  Courtenat  Bell  and 
Miss  Hickey  for  their  invaluable  assistance  in  preparing 
the  book  for,  and  carrying  it  through  the  press ;  and  I 
acknowledge  with  real  gratitude  the  advantages  derived  by 
it  from  Mr.  Dykes  Campbell's  large  literary  experience 
in  his  very  careful  final  revision  of  the  proofs. 

A.  ORB. 

April  22,  1891, 


CONTENTS 


FAOB 

Preface  to  Revised  Edition     ..!•••▼ 


PSEFACE   TO   THE   FlEST   EDITION 


CHAPTER  I 

Origin  of  the  Browning  Family — Robert  Browning's  Grand- 
father— His  Position  and  Character — His  first  and  second 
Marriage  —  Unkindness  towards  his  eldest  Son,  Robert 
Browning's  Father — Alleged  Infusion  of  West  Indian  Blood 
through  Robert  Browning's  Grandmother — Existing  Evi- 
dence against  it — The  Grandmother's  Portrait         .         • 


CHAPTER  II 

Robert  Browning's  Father — His  Position  in  Life — Comparison 
between  him  and  his  Son — Tenderness  towards  his  Son — 
Outline  of  his  Habits  and  Character — His  Death — Signifi- 
cant Newspaper  Paragraph — Letter  of  Mr.  Locker-Lampson 
— Robert  Browning's  Mother — Her  Character  and  Ante- 
cedents— Their  Influence  upon  her  Son — Nervous  Delicacy 
imparted  to  both  her  Children — Its  special  Evidences  in 
her  Son 10 


CHAPTER  III 

1812-1826 

Birth  of  Robert  Browning — His  Childhood  and  Schooldays- 
Restless  Temperament — Brilliant  Mental  Endowment*— 


xii  CONTENTS 

PAoa 

Incidental  Peculiarities— Strong  Religious  Feeling— Pas- 
sionate Attachment  to  his  Mother ;  Grief  at  first  Separa- 
tion— Fondness  for  Animals — Experiences  of  School  Life 
— Extensive  Beading — Early  Attempts  in  Verse — Letter 
from  his  Father  concerning  them — Spurious  Poems  in 
Circulation — Incondita — Mr.  Fox — Miss  Flower       ,        ,      22 

CHAPTER  rV 

1826-1833 

First  Impressions  of  Keats  and  Shelley — Prolonged  Influence 
of  Shelley — Details  of  Home  Education — Its  Effects — 
Youthful  Restlessness — Counteracting  Love  of  Home — 
Early  Friendships :  Alfred  Domett,  Joseph  Arnould,  the 
SJlverthornes — Choice  of  Poetry  as  a  Profession — Alterna- 
tive Suggestions ;  mistaken  Rumours  concerning  them — 
Interest  in  Art— Love  of  good  Theatrical  Performances — 
Talent  for  Acting — Final  Preparation  for  Literary  Life     .       87 

CHAPTER  V 

1833-1835 

Pauline — Letters  to  Mr.  Fox — Publication  of  the  Poem ;  chief 
Biographical  and  Literary  Characteristics  —  Mr.  Fox's 
Review  in  the  Monthly  Repository ;  other  Notices — Russian 
Journey — Desired  diplomatic  Appointment — Minor  Poems ; 
first  Sonnet ;  their  raode  of  Appearance  —  The  Trifler — 
Paracelsus — Letters  to  Mr.  Fox  concerning  it ;  its  Publi- 
cation— M.  de  Ripert-Monclar — Incidental  Origin  of  Para- 
celsus ;  its  inspiring  Motive ;  its  Relation  to  Pauline — Mr. 
Fox's  Review  of  it  in  the  Monthly  Bepository — Article  in 
the  Examiner  by  John  Forster        .....      51 

CHAPTER  VI 

1835-1838 

Removal  to  Hatcham ;  some  Particulars — Renewed  Intercourse 
with  the  second  Family  of  Robert  Browning's  Grandfather 
—  Reuben  Browning  —  William  Shergold  Browning  — 
Visitors  at  Hatcham — Thomas  Carlyle— Social  Life— New 


CONTENTS  xiii 

FAGB 

Friends  and  Acquaintances — Introduction  to  Macready — 
New  Year's  Eve  at  Elm  Place — Introduction  to  John 
Forster — Miss  Fanny Haworth — Miss  Martineau — Serjeant 
Talfourd  —  The  Ion  Supper  —  Strafford  —  Relations  with 
Macready — Performance  of  Strafford — Letters  concerning 
it  from  Mr.  Browning  and  Miss  Flower — Personal  Glimpses 
of  Robert  Browning — Rival  Forms  of  Dramatic  Inspiration 
Relation  of  Strafford  to  Sordello — Mr.  Robertson  and  the 
Westminster  Review        ..•••••      73 

CHAPTER  VII 

1838-1841 

First  Italian  Journey — Letters  to  Miss  Haworth — Mr.  John 
Kenyon — Sordello — Letter  to  Miss  Flower — Pi;ppa  Passes 
— Bells  and  Pomegranates       ..••••      90 

CHAPTER  VIII 

1841-1844 

A  Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon — Letters  to  Mr.  Frank  Hill;  Lady 
Martin  —  Charles  Dickens  —  Other  Dramas  and  Minor 
Poems — Letters  to  Miss  Lee ;  Miss  Haworth ;  Miss  Flower 
—  Second  Italian  Journey;  Naples  —  E.  J.  Trelavimy — 
Stendhal .109 

CHAPTER  IX 

1844-1846 

Introduction  to  Miss  Barrett — Interviews  and  Correspondence 
— Miss  Barrett's  Life — Engagement — Motives  for  Secrecy 
— Marriage — Journey  to  Italy — Extract  of  Letter  from 
Mi.  Fos 129 

CHAPTER  X 

1846-1848 

'  Mrs.  Browning's  Letters — Life  at  Pisa — Florence— Yallom- 
brosa — Proposed  British  Mission  to  the  Vatican — Casa 
Guidi — Italian  tour ;  Fano,  Ancona,  etc. — Father  Prout — 
A  Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon  at  Sadler's  Wells        .        .        ,    141 


xiv  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XI 

1849-1852 

PAOII 

Death  of  Mr.  Browning's  Mother  —  Birth  of  his  Son— Mrs. 
Browning's  Letters  continued — Baths  of  Lucca — Florence 
again — W.  W.  Story— Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli — Venice — 
Visit  to  England — Winter  in  Paris— Carlyle— George  Sand 
—Alfred  de  Musset 154 

CHAPTER  XII 

1852-1855 

M.  Joseph  Milsand — His  close  Friendship  with  Mr.  Browning ; 
Mrs.  Browning's  Impression  of  him — New  Edition  of  Mr. 
Browning's  Poems  —  Christmas  Eve  and  Easter  Day — 
Essay  on  Shelley — Summer  in  London — Dante  Gabriel 
Rossetti — Florence ;  secluded  Life — Letters  from  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Browning — Colombe's  Birthday — Baths  of  Lucca — 
Mrs.  Browning's  Letters  —  Winter  in  Rome  —  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Story — Mrs.  Sartoris — Fanny  Kemble — Summer  in 
Florence— T/ie  Twins- Summer  in  London — Tennyson — 
Ruskin .173 

CHAPTER  XIII 

1855-1858 

Men  and  Women — Karshook — Two  in  the  Campagna — Winter 
in  Paris;  Lady  Elgin — Aurora  Leigh  —  Death  of  Mr. 
Kenyon  and  Mr.  Barrett — Penini — Mrs.  Browning's  Letters 
to  Miss  Browning — The  Florentine  Carnival — Baths  of 
Lucca— Spiritualism — Mr.  Kirkup;  Count  Ginnasi — Letter 
from  Mr.  Browning  to  Mr.  Fox — Havre  .        .        .        •    197 

CHAPTER  XrV 

1858-1861 

Winter  in  Rome — Visit  of  the  Prince  of  Wales — lilrs.  Brown- 
ing's Illness — Siena — Walter  Savage  Landor — Letter  from 
Mr.  Browning  to  Mr.  Leighton — Mrs.  Browning's  Letters 
continued— Winter  in  Rome — Mr.  Val  Prinsep— Friends 


CONTENTS  XV 


in  Rome :  W.  W.  Story ;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cartwright — Multi- 
plying Social  Relations — Massimo  d'Azeglio — Siena  again 
— Illness  and  death  of  Mrs.  Browning's  Sister — Mr.  Brown- 
ing's Occupations — Madame  du  Quaire — Mrs.  Browning's 
last  Illness  and  Death     ....•».     217 


CHAPTER  XV 

1861-1863 

Miss  Blagden — Letters  from  Mr.  Browning  to  Miss  Haworth 
and  Mr.  Leighton — His  Feeling  in  regard  to  Funeral  Cere- 
monies— Establishment  in  London — Plan  of  Life — Letter 
to  Madame  du  Quaire — Miss  Arabel  Barrett — Editorship 
of  Cornhill  Magazine  oSered — Biarritz — Letters  to  Miss 
Blagden — Conception  of  The  Ring  and  tlie  Book — Bio- 
graphical Indiscretion — New  Edition  of  his  Works — Mr, 
and  Mrs.  Procter •        •        •    237 


CHAPTER  XVI 

1863-1869 

Pomic — James  Lee's  Wife — Meeting  at  Mr,  F.  Palgrave's — 
Letters  to  Miss  Blagden — His  own  Estimate  of  his  Work 
— His  Father's  Illness  and  Death ;  Miss  Browning — Le 
Croisic — Academic  Honours ;  Letter  to  the  Master  of  Balliol 
— Death  of  Miss  Barrett — Audierne — Uniform  Edition  of 
his  Works — His  rising  Fame — Dramatis  PersoncB — Hie 
Ring  and  the  Booh ;  Character  of  Pompilia      •        •        •     255 

CHAPTER  XVII 

1869-1873 

Lord  Dufferin ;  Helen's  Tower— Scotland ;  Visits  to  Lady  Ash- 
burton  and  Naworth  Castle — Letters  to  Miss  Blagden 

St.-Aubin ;  The  Franco-Prussian  Wax—Herv^  i?teZ— Letter 
to  Mr,  G.  M.  Smith — Balaustion's  Adventure;  Prince 
Hohenstiel-Schwajigau  —  Fifine  at  the  Fair  —  Mistaken 
Theories  of  Mr.  Browning's  Work— St.-Aubin ;  Bed  Cotton 
Nightcap  Country 274 


xvi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XVIII 

1873-1878 

London  Life — Love  of  Music — Miss  Egerton-Smith — Periodical 
Nervous  Exhaustion — Mers ;  Aristophanes'  Apology — Ago- 
memnon — The  Inn  Album — Pacchiarotto  and  otJier  Poems — 
Visits  to  Oxford  and  Cambridge — Letters  to  Mrs.  Fitz- 
Gerald — St.  Andrews ;  Letter  from  Professor  Knight — In 
the  Savoyard  Mountains — Death  of  Miss  Egerton-Smith — 
La  Saisiaz;  The  Two  Poets  of  Croisic — Selections  from  his 
Works 288 

CHAPTER  XTX 

1878-1884 

He  revisits  Italy :  Asolo ;  Letters  to  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald — Venice 
— Favourite  Alpine  Retreats — Mrs.  Arthur  Bronson — Life 
in  Venice — A  Tragedy  at  Saint-Pierre — Mr.  Cholmondeley 
— Mr.  Browning's  Patriotic  Feeling ;  Extract  from  Letter 
to  Mrs.  Charles  Skirrow  —  Dramatic  Idyls  —  Jocoseria  — 
Ferishtah's  Fancies — Relative  popularity  of  the  poetry  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning 807 

CHAPTER  XX 

1881-1887 

The  Browning  Society ;  Mr.  Fumivall ;  Miss  E.  H.  Hickey — 
His  Attitude  towards  the  Society;  Letter  to  Mrs.  Fitz- 
Gerald — Mr.  Thaxter,  Mrs.  Celia  Thaxter — Letter  to  Miss 
Hickey;  Strafford — Shakspere  and  Wordsworth  Societies 
—  Letters  to  Professor  Knight  —  Appreciation  in  Italy; 
Professor  Nencioni — The  Goldoni  Sormet — Mr.  Barrett 
Browning;  Palazzo  Manzoni — Letters  to  Mrs.  Charles 
Skirrow — St.  Moritz ;  Mrs.  Bloonafield  Moore — LlangoUen ; 
Sir  Theodore  and  Lady  Martin — Loss  of  old  Friends — 
Foreign  Correspondent  of  the  Royal  Academy — Parleyings 
with  certain  People  of  Importance  in  their  Day         •        .    828 

CHAPTER  XXI 

Constancy  to  Habit — Optimism — Belief  in  Providence — Politi- 
cal Opinions— His  Friendships — Reverence  for  Genius— 


CONTENTS  xvii 

FAQB 

Attitude  towards  hig  Public — Attitude  towards  his  Work 
— Habits  of  Work — His  Reading — Conversational  Powers — 
Impulsiveness  and  Reserve — Nervous  Peculiarities — His 
Benevolence — His  Attitude  towards  Women     .        ,         .     349 

CHAPTER  XXII 

1887-1889 

Marriage  of  Mr.  Barrett  Browning — Removal  to  De  Vera 
Gardens — Symptoms  of  failing  Strength — New  Poems  ; 
New  Edition  of  his  Works — Letters  to  Mr.  George  Bainton, 
Mr.  Smith,  and  Lady  Martin — Primiero  and  Venice — 
Letters  to  Miss  Keep — The  last  Year  in  London — Asolo — 
Letters  to  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald,  Mrs.  Skirrow,  and  Mr.  G.  M. 
Smith 375 

CHAPTER  XXIII 

1889 

Proposed  Purchase  of  Land  at  Asolo — Venice — Letter  to  Mr. 
G.  Moulton-Barrett — Lines  to  Edward  Fitzgerald — Letter 
to  Miss  Keep — Illness — Death — Funeral  Ceremonial  at 
Venice — Publication  of  Asolando — Interment  in  Poets' 
Corner 393 

Conclusion 407 

Appendix   I. — The  Portraits  of  Robert  Browning  .         ,        ,  413 

Appendix  II. — The  original  MSS.  of  the  Poems     .        ,        ,  418 

Index         , 421 


LIST  OF  PORTRAITS 


Portrait  of  Robert  Browning,  1859      .        .        Frontispiece 

From  a  drawing  by  Lord  Leighton  in  the  possession  of  S,  Barrett 
Browning 

Portrait  of  Egbert  Browning,  1889      •  Tofacej^ge  398 

From  the  painting  hy  R,  Barrett  Brouming 


SaU*2^ 


LIFE  AND  LETTEKS 

OF 

EOBEET    BROWNING 

CHAPTER  I 

Origin  of  the  Browning  Family — Robert  Browning's  Grandfather— 
His  Position  and  Character — His  first  and  second  Marriage — 
Unkindness  towards  his  eldest  Son,  Robert  Browning's  Father 
— Alleged  Infusion  ot  West  Indian  Blood  through  Robert 
Browning's  Grandmother — Existing  Evidence  against  it — The 
Grandmother's  Portrait. 

A  BELIEF  was  current  in  Mr.  Browning's  lifetime  that  he 
had  Jewish  blood  in  his  veins.  It  received  outward 
support  from  certain  accidents  of  his  life,  from  his  known 
interest  in  the  Hebrew  language  and  literature,  from  his 
friendship  for  various  members  of  the  Jewish  community 
in  London.  It  might  well  have  yielded  to  the  fact  of  his 
never  claiming  the  kinship,  which  could  not  have  existed 
without  his  knowledge,  and  which,  if  he  had  known  it,  he 
would  by  reason  of  these  very  sympathies,  have  been  the 
last  person  to  disavow.  The  results  of  more  recent  and 
more  systematic  inquiry  have  shown  the  belief  to  be 
unfounded. 

Our  poet  sprang,  on  the  father's  side,  from  an  obscure 

B 


2  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

or,  as  family  tradition  asserts,  a  decayed  branch,  of  an 
Anglo-Saxon  stock  settled,  at  an  early  period  of  our  history, 
in  the  south,  and  probably  also  south-west,  of  England.  A 
line  of  Brownings  owned  the  manors  of  Melbury-Sampford 
and  Melbury-Osmond,  in  north-west  Dorsetshire ;  their 
last  representative  disappeared — or  was  believed  to  do  so — 
in  the  time  of  Henry  YII.,  their  manors  passing  into  the 
hands  of  the  Earls  of  Ilchester,  who  still  hold  them.^  The 
name  occurs  after  1542  in  different  parts  of  the  country  : 
in  two  cases  with  the  affix  of  "  esquire  ; "  in  two  also,  though 
not  in  both  coincidently,  within  twenty  miles  of  Pentridge, 
where  the  first  distinct  traces  of  the  poet's  family  appear. 
Its  cradle,  as  he  called  it,  was  Woodyates,  in  the  parish 
of  Pentridge,  on  the  Wiltshire  confines  of  Dorsetshire ; 
and  there  his  ancestors,  of  the  third  and  fourth  generations, 
held,  as  we  understand,  a  modest  but  independent  social 
position. 

This  fragment  of  history,  if  we  may  so  call  it,  accords 
better  with  our  impression  of  Mr.  Browning's  genius  than 
could  any  pedigree  which  more  palpably  connected  him 
with  the  "  knightly  "  and  "  squirely  "  families  whose  name  he 
bore.  It  supplies  the  strong  roots  of  English  national  life 
to  which  we  instinctively  refer  it.  Both  the  vivid  origin- 
ality of  that  genius  and  its  healthy  assimilative  power 
stamp  it  as,  in  some  sense,  the  product  of  virgin  soil ;  and 

•  I  am  indebted  for  these  facts,  as  well  as  for  some  others  refer- 
ring  to,  or  supplied  by,  Mr.  Browning's  uncles,  to  some  notes  made 
for  the  Browning  Society  by  Dr.  Fumivall.  [Mr.  Browning  had  no 
uncles  in  the  full  sense,  but  his  father's  half-brothers  were  naturally 
called  80 ;  see  pp.  74,  76.  The  results  of  Dr.  FurnivaU's  researchea 
into  the  ancestry  of  the  poet  will  be  found  in  the  Browning  Society's 
papers,  No.  xii.,  1890.   I  have  not  attempted  to  test  their  accuracy.] 


ROBERT  BROWNING  3 

although  the  varied  elements  which  entered  into  its  growth 
were  racial  as  well  as  cultural,  and  inherited  as  well  as 
absorbed,  the  evidence  of  its  strong  natural  or  physical 
basis  remains  undisturbed. 

Mr.  Browning,  for  his  own  part,  maintained  a  neutral 
attitude  in  the  matter.  He  neither  claimed  nor  disclaimed 
the  more  remote  genealogical  past  which  had  presented 
itself  as  a  certainty  to  some  older  members  of  his  family. 
He  preserved  the  old  framed  coat-of-arms  handed  down  to 
him  from  his  grandfather  ;  and  used,  without  misgiving  as 
to  his  right  to  do  so,  a  signet-ring  engraved  from  it,  the 
gift  of  a  favourite  uncle  in  years  gone  by.  But,  so  long 
as  he  was  young,  he  had  no  reason  to  think  about  his 
ancestors,  and  when  he  was  old,  he  had  no  reason  to  care 
about  them ;  he  knew  himself  to  be,  in  every  possible  case, 
the  most  important  fact  in  his  family  history. 

Roi  ne  suis,  ni  Prince  aussi, 
Suis  le  seigneur  de  Couci, 

he  wrote,  a  few  years  before  his  death,  to  a  friend  who 
had  incidentally  questioned  him  about  it. 

Our  immediate  knowledge  of  the  family  begins  with 
Mr.  Browning's  grandfather,  also  a  Robert  Browning,  who 
obtained  through  Lord  Shaftesbury's  influence  a  clerkship 
in  the  Bank  of  England,  and  entered  on  it  when  barely 
twenty,  in  1769.  He  served  fifty  years,  and  rose  to  the 
position  of  Principal  of  the  Bank  Stock  Office,  then  an 
important  one,  which  brought  him  into  coDtact  with  the 
leading  financiers  of  the  day.  He  became  also  a  lieutenant 
in  the  Honourable  Artillery  Company,  and  took  part  in  the 
defence  of  the  Bank  in  the  Gordon  Riots  of  1780.     He  was 


4  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

an  able,  energetic,  and  worldly  man  ;  an  Englishman,  very 
much  of  the  provincial  type  ;  his  literary  tastes  being 
limited  to  the  Bible  and  "  Tom  Jones,"  both  of  which  he 
is  said  to  have  read  through  once  a  year.  He  possessed  a 
handsome  person  and,  probably,  a  vigorous  constitution, 
since  he  lived  to  the  age  of  eiglity-four,  though  frequently 
tormented  by  gout  ;  a  circumstance  which  may  help  to 
account  for  his  not  having  seen  much  of  his  grandchildren, 
the  poet  and  his  sister  ;  we  are  indeed  told  that  he  parti- 
cularly dreaded  the  lively  boy's  vicinity  to  his  afflicted  foot. 
He  married,  in  1778,  Margaret,  daughter  of  a  Mr.  Tittle  by 
his  marriage  with  Miss  Seymour  ;  she  had  been  bom  in  the 
West  Indies  and  had  inherited  property  there.  They  had 
three  children  :  Robert,  the  poet's  father,  born  in  1781  ;  a 
daughter,  who  lived  an  uneventful  life  and  plays  no  part 
in  the  family  history  ;  and  another  son  who  died  an  infant. 
The  Creole  mother  died  also  when  her  eldest  boy  was  only 
seven  years  old,  and  passed  out  of  his  memory  in  all  but  an 
indistinct  impression  of  having  seen  her  lying  in  her  coflBn. 
Five  years  later  (April  10,  1794)  the  widower  married  a 
Miss  Jane  Smith,  who  gave  him  a  large  family. 

This  second  marriage  of  Mr.  Browning's  was  a  critical 
event  in  the  life  of  his  eldest  son ;  it  gave  him,  to  all 
appearance,  two  step-parents  instead  of  one.  There  could 
have  been  little  sympathy  between  his  father  and  himself, 
for  no  two  persons  were  ever  more  unlike ;  but  there  was 
yet  another  cause  for  the  systematic  unkindness  under 
which  the  lad  grew  up.  Mr.  Browning  fell,  as  a  hard  man 
easily  does,  greatly  under  the  influence  of  his  second  wife, 
and  this  influence  was  made  by  her  to  subserve  the  interests 
of  a  more  than  natural  jealousy  of  her  predecessor.    An 


ROBERT   BROWNING  5 

early  instance  of  this  was  her  banishing  the  dead  lady's 
portrait  to  a  garret,  on  the  plea  that  her  husband  did  not 
need  two  wives.  The  son  could  be  no  burden  upon  her 
because  he  had  a  little  income,  derived  from  his  mother's 
brother  ;  but  this,  probably,  only  heightened  her  ill-will 
towards  him.  When  he  was  old  enough  to  go  to  a 
University,  and  very  desirous  of  going — when,  moreover, 
he  offered  to  do  so  at  his  own  cost — she  induced  his  father 
to  forbid  it,  because,  she  urged,  they  conld  not  alford  to 
send  their  other  sons  to  college.  An  earlier  ambition  of 
his  had  been  to  become  an  artist ;  but  when  he  showed 
his  first  completed  picture  to  his  father,  the  latter  turned 
away  and  refused  to  look  at  it.  He  gave  himself  the 
finishing  stroke  in  the  parental  eyes,  by  throwing  up  a 
lucrative  employment  which  he  had  held  for  a  short  time 
on  his  mother's  "West  Indian  property,  in  disgust  at  the 
system  of  slave  labour  which  was  still  in  force  there  ;  ^  and 
he  paid  for  this  unpractical  conduct  as  soon  as  he  was  of 
age,  by  the  compulsory  reimbursement  of  all  the  expenses 
which  his  father,  up  to  that  date,  had  incurred  for  him, 
and  by  the  loss  of  his  mother's  fortune,  which  at  the 
time  of  her  marriage  had  not  been  settled  upon  her.     It 

'  [In  1846  Robert  Browning  wrote  to  Miss  Barrett :  "  If  we  are 
poor,  it  is  to  my  father's  infinite  glory,  who,  as  my  mother  told  me 
last  night,  as  we  sate  alone,  '  conceived  such  a  hatred  to  the  slave- 
eystem  in  the  West  Indies  '  (where  his  mother  was  born,  who  died 
in  his  infancy)  that  he  relinquished  every  prospect,  supported  him- 
self, while  there,  in  some  other  capacity,  and  came  back,  while  yet  a 
boy,  to  his  father's  profound  astonishment  and  rage — one  proof  of 
which  was  that  when  he  heard  that  his  son  was  a  suitor  to  her,  my 
mother,  he  benevolently  waited  on  her  uncle  to  assure  him  that  his 
niece  would  be  thrown  away  on  a  man  so  evidently  born  to  ba 
hanged  ! — those  were  his  words."  (Letters  of  E.  B.  and  E.  B.  B^ 
U.  477.)] 


6  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF 

was  probably  in  despair  of  doing  anything  better,  that,  soon 
after  this,  in  his  twenty-second  year,  he  also  became  a  clerk 
in  the  Bank  of  England.^  He  married  and  settled  in 
Camberwell,  in  1811  ;  his  son  and  daughter  were  born, 
respectively,  in  1812  and  1814.  He  became  a  widower  in 
1849  ;  and  when,  four  years  later,  he  had  completed  his 
term  of  service  at  the  Bank,  he  went  with  his  daughter  to 
Paris,  where  they  resided  until  his  death  in  1866. 

Dr.  Furnivall  has  originated  a  theory,  and  maintains 
it  as  a  conviction,  that  Mr.  Browning's  grandmother  was 
more  than  a  Creole  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  term,  that  of 
a  person  born  of  white  parents  in  the  West  Indies,  and  that 
an  unmistakable  dash  of  dark  blood  passed  from  her  to  her 
son  and  grandson.  Such  an  occurrence  was,  on  the  face  of 
it,  not  impossible,  and  would  be  absolutely  unimportant 
to  my  mind,  and,  I  think  I  may  add,  to  that  of  Mr. 
Browning's  sister  and  son.  The  poet  and  his  father  wers 
what  we  know  them,  and  if  negro  "blood  had  any  part  in 
their  composition,  it  was  no  worse  for  them,  and  so  much 
the  better  for  the  negro.  But  many  persons  among  us  are 
very  averse  to  the  idea  of  such  a  cross ;  I  believe  its 
assertion,  in  the  present  case,  to  be  entirely  mistaken ;  I 
prefer,  therefore,  touching  on  the  facts  alleged  in  favour  of 
it,  to  passing  them  over  in  a  silence  which  might  be  taken 
to  mean  indifference,  but  might  also  be  interpreted  into 
assent. 

1  ["  My  father  on  his  return  had  the  intention  of  devoting  himself 
to  art,  for  which  he  had  many  qualifications  and  abundant  love  ; 
but  the  quarrel  with  his  father — who  married  again,  and  continued 
to  hate  him  till  a  few  years  before  his  death — induced  him  to  go  at 
once  and  consume  his  life  after  a  fashion  he  always  detested." 
(Letters  of  R.  B.  and  E.  B.  B.,  ii.  477.)] 


ROBERT   BROWNING  7 

"We  are  told  that  Mr.  Browning  was  so  dark  in  early 
life,  that  a  nephew  who  saw  him  in  Paris,  in  1837,  mistook 
him  for  an  Italian.  He  neither  had  nor  could  have  had 
a  nephew  ;  and  he  was  not  out  of  England  at  the  time 
specified.  It  is  said  that  when  Mr.  Browning  senior  was 
residing  on  his  mother's  sugar  plantation  at  St.  Kitts,  hi? 
appearance  was  held  to  justify  his  being  placed  in  church 
among  the  coloured  members  of  the  congregation.  We  are 
assured  in  the  strongest  terms  that  the  story  has  no 
foundation,  and  this  by  a  gentleman  whose  authority  in  all 
matters  concerning  the  Browning  family  Dr.  Furnivall  has 
otherwise  accepted  as  conclusive.  If  the  anecdote  were 
true  it  would  be  a  singular  circumstance  that  Mr.  Browning 
senior  was  always  fond  of  drawing  negro  heads,  and  thus 
obviously  disclaimed  any  unpleasant  association  with  them. 

I  do  not  know  the  exact  physical  indications  by  which 
a  dark  strain  is  perceived  ;  but  if  they  are  to  be  sought  in 
the  colouring  of  eyes,  hair,  and  skin,  they  have  been 
conspicuously  absent  in  the  two  persons  who  in  the  present 
case  are  supposed  to  have  borne  them.  The  poet's  father 
had  light  blue  eyes  and,  I  am  assured  by  those  who  knew 
him  best,  a  clear,  ruddy  complexion.  His  appearance 
induced  strangers  passing  him  in  the  Paris  streets  to 
remark,  "  C'est  un  Anglais  !  "  The  absolute  whiteness  of 
Miss  Browning's  skin  was  modified  in  her  brother  by  a 
sallow  tinge  sufficiently  explained  by  frequent  disturbance 
of  the  liver  ;  but  it  never  affected  the  clearness  of  his  large 
blue-grey  eyes,  and  his  hair,  which  grew  dark  as  he 
approached  manhood,  though  it  never  became  black,  is 
spoken  of,  by  every  one  who  remembers  him  in  childhood 
and  youth,  as  golden.    It  is  no  less  worthy  of  note  that  the 


8  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF 

daughter  of  his  early  friend  Mr.  Fox,  wKo  grew  up  in  the 
little  social  circle  to  which  he  belonged,  never  even  heard  of 
the  dark  cross  now  imputed  to  him  ;  and  a  lady,  who  made 
his  acquaintance  during  his  twenty-fourth  year,  wrote  a 
sonnet  upon  him,  beginning  with  these  words : 

Thy  brow  is  calm,  young  Poet — pale  and  clear 
As  a  moonlighted  statue. 

The  suggestion  of  Italian  characteristics  in  the  Poet's 
face  may  serve,  however,  to  introduce  a  curious  fact,  which 
can  have  no  bearing  on  the  main  lines  of  his  descent,  but 
holds  collateral  possibilities  concerning  it.  His  mother's 
name  "Wiedemann  or  Wiedeman  appears  in  a  merely  con- 
tracted form  as  that  of  one  of  the  oldest  families  naturalized 
in  Venice.  It  became  united  by  marriage  with  the  Rez- 
zonico ;  and,  by  a  strange  coincidence,  the  last  of  these 
who  occupied  the  palace  purchased  by  Mr.  Barrett  Browning, 
in  which  the  poet  died,  was  a  Widman-Rezzonico.  The 
present  Contessa  Widman  has  lately  restored  her  own 
palace,  which  was  falling  into  ruin. 

That  portrait  of  the  first  Mrs.  Browning,  which  gave 
80  much  umbrage  to  her  husband's  second  wife,  hung  for 
many  years  in  her  grandson's  dining-room,  and  was  well 
known  to  all  his  friends.  It  represents  a  stately  woman 
with  an  unmistakably  fair  skin ;  and  if  the  face  or  hair 
betrays  any  indication  of  possible  dark  blood,  it  is  imper- 
ceptible to  the  general  observer,  and  must  be  of  too  slight 
and  fugitive  a  nature  to  enter  into  the  discussion.  A  long 
curl  touches  one  shoulder.  One  hand  rests  upon  a  copy  of 
Thomson's  Seasons,  which  was  held  to  be  the  proper  study 
and  recreation  of  cultivated  women  in  those  days.  The 
picture  was  painted  by  Wright  of  Derby. 


ROBERT  BROWNING  9 

A  brother  of  this  lady  was  an  adventurous  traveller,  and 
was  said  to  have  penetrated  farther  into  the  interior  of 
Africa  than  any  other  European  of  his  time.  His  violent 
death  will  be  found  recorded  in  a  singular  experience  of  the 
poet's  middle  life. 


10  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OP 


CHAPTER  II 

Itebert  Browning's  Father  —  His  Position  in  Life  —  Comparison 
between  liim  anrl  his  Son — Tenderness  towards  his  Son — Out- 
line of  his  Habits  and  Character — His  Death — Significant 
Newspaper  Paragraph  —  Letter  of  Mr,  Locker-Lampson — 
Eobert  Browning's  Mother — Her  Character  and  Antecedents— 
Their  influence  upon  her  Son — Nervous  Delicacy  imparted  to 
both  her  Children — Its  special  Evidences  in  her  Son. 

It  was  almost  a  matter  of  com'se  that  Robert  Browning's 
father  should  be  disinclined  for  bank  work.  We  are  told, 
and  can  easily  imagine,  that  he  was  not  so  good  an  official 
as  the  grandfather  ;  we  know  that  he  did  not  rise  so  high, 
nor  draw  so  large  a  salary.  But  he  made  the  best  of  his 
position  for  his  family's  sake,  and  it  was  at  that  time  both 
more  important  and  more  lucrative  than  such  appointments 
have  since  become.  Its  emoluments  could  be  increased  by 
many  honourable  means  not  covered  by  the  regular  salary. 
The  working-day  was  short,  and  every  additional  hour's 
service  well  paid.  To  be  enrolled  on  the  night-watch  was 
also  very  remunerative  ;  there  were  enormous  perquisites  in 
pens,  paper,  and  sealing-wax.^  Mr.  Browning  availed  him- 
self of  these  opportunities  of  adding  to  his  income,  and  was 

>  I  have  been  told  that,  far  from  becoming  careless  in  the  use  of 
these  things  from  his  practically  unbounded  command  of  them,  he 
developed  for  them  an  almost  superstitious  reverenoe.  He  could 
never  endvure  to  see  a  scrap  of  writing-paper  wasted. 


ROBERT   BROWNING  11 

thug  enabled,  with  the  help  of  his  private  means,  to  gratify 
his  scholarly  and  artistic  tastes,  and  give  his  children  the 
benefit  of  a  very  liberal  education — the  one  distinct  ideal  of 
success  in  life  which  such  a  nature  as  his  could  form.  Con- 
stituted as  he  was,  he  probably  suffered  very  little  through 
the  paternal  unkindness  which  had  forced  him  into  an  un- 
congenial career.  Its  only  palpable  result  was  to  make  him 
a  more  anxiously  indulgent  parent  when  his  own  time 
came. 

Many  circumstances  conspired  to  secure  to  the  coming 
poet  a  happier  childhood  and  youth  than  his  father  had  had. 
His  path  was  to  be  smoothed  not  only  by  natural  affection 
and  conscientious  care,  but  by  literary  and  artistic  sympathy. 
The  second  Mr.  Browning  differed,  in  certain  respects,  as 
much  from  the  third  as  from  the  first.  There  were,  never- 
theless, strong  points  in  which,  if  he  did  not  resemble,  he  at 
least  distinctly  foreshadowed  him ;  and  the  genius  of  the 
one  w'ould  lack  some  possible  explanation  if  we  did  not 
recognize  in  great  measure  its  organized  material  in  the 
other.  Much,  indeed,  that  was  genius  in  the  son  existed  as 
talent  in  the  father.  The  moral  nature  of  the  younG:er 
man  diverged  from  that  of  the  older,  though  retaining 
Btrong  points  of  similarity  ;  but  the  mental  equipments  of 
the  two  differed  far  less  in  themselves  than  in  the  different 
uses  to  which  temperament  and  circumstances  trained 
them.  -      ,.    '7:^-^<-^>'^y 

The  most  salient  intellectual  characteristic  of  Mr. 
Browning  senior  was  his  passion  for  reading.  In  his 
daughter's  words,  "he  read  in  season,  and  out  of  season"  ; 
and  he  not  only  read,  but  remembered.  As  a  schoolboy,  he 
knew  by  heart  the  first  book  of  the  Iliad.,  and  all  the  odvs 


12  LIFE    AND   LETTERS   OF 

of  Horace  ;  and  it  shows  how  deeply  the  classical  part  of 
his  training  must  have  entered  into  him,  that  he  was  wont, 
in  later  life,  to  soothe  his  little  boy  to  sleep  by  humming  to 
liim  an  ode  of  Anacreon.  It  was  one  of  his  amusements  at 
school  to  organize  Homeric  combats  among  the  boys,  in 
which  the  fighting  was  carried  on  in  the  manner  of  the 
Greeks  and  Trojans,  and  he  and  his  friend  Kenyon  would 
arm  themselves  with  swords  and  shields,  and  hack  at  each 
other  lustily,  exciting  themselves  to  battle  by  insulting 
speeches  derived  from  the  Homeric  text.^ 

'Mr.  Browning  had  also  an  extraordinary  power  of  versi- 
fying, and  tauirht  his  son  from  babyhood  the  words  he 
wished  him  to  remember,  by  joining  them  to  a  grotesque 
rhyme  ;  the  child  learned  all  his  Latin  declensions  in  this 
way..  His  love  of  art  has  been  proved  by  his  desire  to 
adopt  it  as  a  profession  ;  his  talent  for  it  was  evidenced  by 
the  life  and  power  of  the  sketches,  often  caricatures,  which 
fell  from  his  pen  or  pencil  as  easily  as  written  words.^  Mr. 
Barrett  Browning  remembers  gaining  a  very  early  elementary 
knowledge  of  anatomy  from  comic  illustrated  rhymes  (now 
in  the  possession  of  their  old  friend,  Mrs.  Fraser  Corkran), 
through  which  his  grandfather  impressed  upon  him  the 
names  and  position  of  the  principal  bones  of  the  human 
body. 

Even  more  remarkable  than  his  delight  in  reading  was 

*  This  anecdote  is  partly  quoted  from  Mrs.  Andrew  Crosse,  who 
has  introduced  it  into  her  article  "  John  Kenyon  and  his  Friends," 
Temple  Bar,  April  1890.  She  herself  received  it  from  Mr,  Dykes 
Campbell.  [See  also  the  poem  entitled  "  Development  "  {Asolando, 
p.  123),  "  My  father  was  a  scholar  and  knew  Greek,"  etc.] 

'  [It  is  on  record  that  at  one  time  he  spent  his  evenings  in  illus- 
trating his  son's  poems.     [Letters  of  E.  B.  a-nd  E.  B.  B.,  i.  415.)] 


ROBERT  BROWNING  13 

the  manner  in  which  Mr.  Browning  read.  He  carried  into 
it  all  the  preciseness  of  the  scholar.  It  was  his  habit  when 
he  bought  a  book— which  was  generally  an  old  one  allowing 
of  this  addition — to  have  some  pages  of  blank  paper  bound 
into  it.  These  he  filled  with  notes,  chronological  tables,  or 
Buch  other  supplementary  matter  as  would  enhance  the 
interss',  or  assist  the  mastering,  of  its  contents  ;  aU  written 
m  a  clear  and  firm  though  by  no  means  formal  hand- 
writing. More  than  one  book  thus  treated  by  him  has 
passed  through  my  hands,  leaving  in  me,  it  need  hardly  be 
said,  a  stronger  impression  of  the  owner's  intellectual 
quality  than  the  acquisition  by  him  of  the  finest  library 
could  have  conveyed.  One  of  the  experiences  which  dis- 
gusted him  with  St.  Kitts  was  the  frustration  by  its 
authorities  of  an  attempt  he  was  making  to  teach  a  negro 
boy  to  read,  and  the  understanding  that  all  such  educative 
action  was  prohibited. 

In  his  faculties  and  attainments,  as  in  his  pleasures  and 
appreciations,  he  showed  the  simplicity  and  genuineness  of 
a  child.  He  was  not  only  ready  to  amuse,  he  could  always 
identify  himself  with  children,  his  love  for  whom  never 
failed  him  in  even  his  latest  years.  His  more  than  child- 
like.  indifference  to  pecuniary  advantages  had  been  shown 
m  edrly  hfe.  He  gave  another  proof  of  it  after  his  wife's 
death,  when  he  decUned  a  proposal,  made  to  him  by  the 
Bank  of  England,  to  assist  in  founding  one  of  its  branch 
establishments  in  Liverpool.  He  never  indeed,  personally, 
cared  for  money,  except  as  a  means  of  acquiring  old,  i.e. 
rare,  books,  for  which  he  had,  as  an  acquaintance  declared, 
the  scent  of  a  hound  and  the  snap  of  a  bulldog.  Hia 
eagerness  to  possess  such  treasures  was  only  matched  by 


14  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

the  generosity  with  which  he  parted  with  them ;  and  hii 
daughter  well  remembered  the  feeling  of  angry  suspicion  with 
which  she  and  her  brother  noted  the  periodical  arrival  of  a 
certain  visitor  who  would  be  closeted  with  their  father  for 
hours,  and  steal  away  before  the  supper  time,  when  the 
family  would  meet,  with  some  precious  parcel  of  books  or 
priuts  under  his  arm. 

It  is  almost  superfluous  to  say  that  he  was  indifferent  to 
creature  comforts.  Miss  Browning  was  convinced  that,  if 
on  any  occasion  she  had  said  to  him,  "  There  will  be  no 
dinner  to-day,"  he  would  only  have  looked  up  from  his  book 
to  reply,  "All  right,  my  dear,  it  is  of  no  consequence."  In 
his  bank-clerk  days,  when  he  sometimes  dined  in  Town,  he 
left  one  restaurant  with  which  he  was  not  otherwise  dis- 
satisfied, because  the  waiter  always  gave  him  the  trouble  of 
specifying  what  he  would  have  to  eat.  A  hundred  times 
that  trouble  would  not  have  deterred  him  from  a  kindly 
act.  Of  his  goodness  of  heart,  indeed,  many  distinct  in- 
stances might  be  given  ;  but  even  this  scanty  outline  of  his 
life  has  rendered  them  supei-fluous. 

Mr.  Browning  enjoyed  splendid  physical  health.  His 
early  love  of  reading  had  not  precluded  a  wholesome  enjoy- 
ment of  athletic  sports  ;  and  he  was,  as  a  boy,  tha  fastest 
runner  and  best  base-ball  player  in  his  school.  He  died, 
like  his  father,  at  eighty-four  (or  rather,  within  a  few  days 
of  eighty-five),  but,  unhke  him,  he  had  never  been  ill ;  a 
French  friend  exclaimed  when  all  was  over,  "  II  n'a  jamais 
ete  vieux."  His  faculties  were  so  unclouded  up  to  the  last 
moment  that  he  could  watch  himself  dying,  and  speculate 
on  the  nature  of  the  change  which  was  befalling  him. 
"  What  do  you  think  death  is,  Robert  ?  "  he  said  to  his  son ; 


ROBERT  BROWNING  15 

"  is  it  a  fainting,  or  is  it  a  pang  ?  "  A  notice  of  Lis  decease 
appeared  in  an  American  newspaper.  It  was  written  by  an 
unknown  hand,  and  bears  a  stamp  of  genuineness  which 
renders  the  greater  part  of  it  worth  quoting. 

"  lie  was  not  only  a  ruddy,  active  man,  with  fine  hair, 
that  retained  its  strength  and  brownness  to  the  last,  but  he 
had  a  courageous  spirit  and  a  remarkably  intelligent  mind. 
He  was  a  man  of  the  finest  culture,  and  was  often,  and 
never  vainly,  consulted  by  his  son  Robert  concerning  the 
more  recondite  facts  relating  to  the  old  characters,  whose 
bones  that  poet  liked  so  well  to  disturb.  His  knowledge  of 
old  French,  Spanish,  and  Italian  literature  was  wonderful. 
The  old  man  went  smiling  and  peaceful  to  his  long  rest, 
preserving  his  faculties  to  the  last,  insomuch  that  the 
physician,  astonished  at  his  continued  calmness  and  good 
humour,  turned  to  his  daughter,  and  said  in  a  low  voice, 
*  Does  this  gentleman  know  that  he  is  dying  ? '  The 
daughter  said  in  a  voice  which  the  father  could  hear,  '  He 
knows  it ' ;  and  the  old  man  said  with  a  quiet  smile, 
'Death  is  no  enemy  in  my  eyes.'  His  last  words  were 
spoken  to  his  son  Robert,  who  was  fanning  him,  '  I  fear  I 
am  wearying  you,  dear.' " 

Four  years  later  one  of  his  English  acquaintances  in 
Paris,  Mr.  Frederick  Locker  (afterwards  Locker-Lampson) 
wrote  to  Robert  Browning  as  follows : 

Dec.  26,  1870. 

My  dear  Browning, — I  have  always  thought  that  you 
or  Miss  Browning,  or  some  other  capable  person,  should 
draw  up  a  sketch  of  your  excellent  father  so  that,  hereafter, 
it  might  be  known  what  an  interesting  man  he  was. 


16  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

I  used  often  to  meet  you  in  Paris,  at  Lady  Elgin's, 
She  had  a  genuine  taste  for  poetry,  and  she  liked  being 
read  to,  and  I  remember  you  gave  her  a  copy  of  Keats' 
poems,  and  you  used  often  to  read  his  poetry  to  her.  Lady 
Elgin  died  in  18G0,  and  I  think  it  was  in  that  year  that 
Lady  Charlotte  and  I  ^  saw  the  most  of  Mr.  Browning 
He  was  then  quite  an  elderly  man,  if  years  could  make  him 
BO,  but  he  had  so  much  vivacity  of  manner,  and  such  sim- 
plicity and  freshness  of  mind,  that  it  was  difficult  to  think 
him  old. 

I  remember,  he  and  your  sister  lived  in  an  apartment 
in  the  Eue  de  Grenelle,  St.  Germain,  in  quite  a  simple 
fashion,  much  in  the  way  that  most  people  live  in  Paris, 
and  in  the  way  that  all  sensible  people  would  wish  to  live 
all  over  the  world. 

Your  father  and  I  had  at  least  one  taste  and  affection  in 
common.  He  liked  hunting  the  old  bookstalls  on  the  quais, 
and  he  had  a  great  love  and  admiration  for  Hogarth  ;  and 
he  possessed  several  of  Hogarth's  engravings,  some  in  rare 
and  early  states  of  the  plate  ;  and  he  would  relate  with  glee 
the  circumstances  under  which  he  had  picked  them  up,  and 
at  so  small  a  price  too  !  However,  he  had  none  of  the 
petit-mattre  weakness  of  the  ordinary  collector,  which  is  so 
common,  and  which  I  own  to  1 — such  as  an  infatuation  for 
tall  copies,  and  wide  margins. 

I  remember  your  father  was  fond  of  drawing  in  a  rough 
and  ready  fashion  ;  he  had  plenty  of  talent,  I  should  think 
not  very  great  cultivation  ;  but  quite  enough  to  serve  his 
purpose,  and  to  amuse  his  friends.  He  had  a  thoroughly 
lively  and  healthy  interest  in  your  poetry,  and  he  showed  me 
some  of  your  boyish  attempts  at  versification. 

^  Mr.  Locker  was  then  married  to  Lady  Charlotte  Bruce,  Lad/ 
Elgin's  daughter. 


ROBERT   BROWNING  17 

Taking  your  dear  father  altogether,  I  quite  believe  him 
to  have  been  one  of  those  men — interesting  men — whom 
the  world  never  hears  of.  Perhaps  he  was  shy — at  any  rate 
he  was  much  less  known  than  he  ought  to  have  been  ;  and 
now,  perhaps,  he  only  remains  in  the  recollection  of  his 
family,  and  of  one  or  two  superior  people  (like  myself  !)  who 
were  capable  of  appreciating  him.  My  dear  Browning,  I 
really  hope  you  will  draw  up  a  slight  sketch  of  your  father 
before  it  is  too  late. 

Yours, 

Frederick  Locker. 

The  judgements  thus  expressed  twenty  years  ago  are 
cordially  re-stated  in  the  letter  in  which  Mr.  Locker-Lam p- 
son  authorizes  me  to  publish  them.  The  desired  memoir 
was  never  written  ;  but  the  few  details  which  I  have  given 
of  the  older  Mr.  Browning's  life  and  character  may  perhaps 
stand  for  it. 

"With  regard  to  the  "  strict  dissent "  with  which  her 
parents  have  been  taxed,  Miss  Browning  writes  to  me  : 
"My  father  was  born  and  educated  in  the  Church  of 
England,  and,  for  many  years  before  his  death,  lived  in  her 
communion.  He  became  a  Dissenter  in  middle  life,  and 
my  mother,  born  and  brought  up  in  the  Kirk  of  Scotland, 
became  one  also ; '  but  they  could  not  be  called  bigoted, 

*  [While  living  at  Camberwell  they  were  members  of  the  Inde- 
pendent congregation  which  worshipped  in  York  Street,  Walworth, 
in  the  building  now  known  as  Browning  Hall,  the  headquarters  of 
the  "  Robert  Browning  Settlement,"  founded  in  1895.  In  this 
chapel  Robert  Browning  was  baptized ;  and  the  registers  recording 
this  fact,  and  his  parents'  membership  of  the  congregation,  are  now 
in  the  possession  of  the  Settlement.  In  December,  1906,  a  tablet 
was  placed  in  the  gallery  of  the  hall,  close  to  the  place  where  the 
Brownings  used  to  sit;  and  on  the  same  occasion  was  unveiled  the 

C 


18  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

since  we  always  in  the  evening  attended  the  preaching  of 
the  Eev.  Henry  Melvill  ^  (afterwards  Canon  of  St.  Paul's), 
whose  sermons  Robert  much  admired."  ' 

Little  need  be  said  about  the  poet's  mother,  Sarah  Anne 
Wiedemann.  She  was  spoken  of  by  Carlyle  as  "  the  true 
type  of  a  Scottish  gentlewoman."  Mr.  Kenyon  declared  that 
such  as  she  had  no  need  to  go  to  heaven,  because  they  made 
it  wherever  they  were.  But  her  character  was  all  resumed 
in  her  son's  words,  spoken  with  the  tremulous  emotion  which 
so  often  accompanied  his  allusion  to  those  he  had  loved  and 
lost :  "  She  was  a  divine  woman."  She  was  Scotch  on  the 
maternal  side,  and  her  kindly,  gentle,  but  distinctly  evan- 
gelical Christianity  must  have  been  derived  from  that 
source.  Her  father,  William  Wiedemann,  a  ship-owner,  was 
a  Hamburg  German  settled  in  Dundee,  and  has  been 
described  by  Mr.  Browning  as  an  accomplished  draughts- 
man and  musician.  She  herself  had  nothing  of  the  artist 
about  her,  though  we  hear  of  her  sometimes  playing  the 
piano  ;  in  all  her  goodness  and  sweetness  she  seems  to  have 
been  somewhat  matter-of-fact.  But  there  is  abundant 
indirect  evidence  of  Mr.  Browning's  love  of  music  having 
come  to  him  through  her,  and  we  are  certainly  justified  in 
holding  the  Scottish-German  descent  as  accountable,  in 
great  measure  at  least,  for  the  metaphysical  quality  so  early 
apparent  in  the  poet's  mind,  and  of  which  we  find  no 

bust  of  the  poet,  made  by  Mr.  R.  Barrett  Browning  during  hii 
father's  life  and  now  presented  by  him  to  the  Settlement.] 

•  At  Camden  Chapel,  Camberwell. 

*  Mr.  Browning  was  much  interested,  in  later  years,  in  hearing 
Canon,  perhaps  then  already  Archdeacon,  Farrar  extol  his  eloquence 
and  ask  whether  he  had  known  him.  Mr.  Buskin  also  spoke  of  him 
with  admiration. 


ROBERT  BROWNING  19 

evidence  in  that  of  his  father.  His  strong  religious  instinct 
must  have  been  derived  from  both  parents,  though  most 
anxiously  fostered  by  his  mother. 

There  is  yet  another  point  on  which  Mrs.  Browning 
must  have  influenced  the  life  and  destinies  of  her  son,  that 
of  physical  health,  or,  at  least,  nervous  constitution.^  She 
was  a  delicate  woman,  very  angemic  during  her  later  years, 
and  a  martyr  to  neuralgia,  which  was  perhaps  a  symptom 
of  this  condition.  The  acute  ailment  reproduced  itself  in 
her  daughter  (though  in  a  much  milder  form)  in  spite 
of  an  otherwise  vigorous  constitution.  "With  the  brother, 
the  inheritance  of  suffering  was  not  less  surely  present,  if 
more  difficult  to  trace.  We  have  been  accustomed  to 
speaking  of  him  as  a  brilliantly  healthy  man ;  he  was 
healthy,  even  strong,  in  many  essential  respects.  Until 
past  the  age  of  seventy  he  could  take  long  walks  without 
fatigue,  and  endure  an  amount  of  social  and  general  physical 
strain  which  would  have  tried  many  younger  men.  He 
carried  on  until  the  last  a  large,  if  not  always  serious, 
correspondence,  and  only  within  the  latest  months,  perhaps 
weeks,  of  his  life,  did  his  letters  even  suggest  that  physical 
brain-power  was  failing  him.  He  had,  within  the  Umits 
which  his  death  has  assigned  to  it,  a  considerable  re- 
cuperative power.  His  consciousness  of  health  was  vivid, 
so  long  as  he  was  well ;  and  it  was  only  towards  the  end 
that  the  faith  in  his  probable  length  of  days  occasionally 
deserted  him.  But  he  died  of  no  acute  disease,  more  than 
seven  years  younger  than  his  father,  having  long  carried 
with  him  external  marks  of  age  from  which  his  father 
remained  exempt.  Till  towards  the  age  of  forty  he  suffered 
»  [See  Letters  of  B.  B.  and  E.  B.  B.,  ii,  456.] 


20  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

from  attacks  of  sore-throat,  not  frequent,  but  of  an  angry 
kind.^  He  was  constantly  troubled  by  imperfect  action  of 
the  liver,  though  no  doctor  pronounced  the  evil  serious.  I 
have  spoken  of  this  in  reference  to  his  complexion.  During 
the  last  twenty  years,  if  not  for  longer,  he  rarely  spent  a 
winter  without  a  suffocating  cold  and  cough  ;  within  the 
last  five,  asthmatic  symptoms  established  themselves  ;  and 
when  he  sank  under  what  was  perhaps  his  first  real  attack 
of  bronchitis,  it  was  not  because  the  attack  was  very  severe, 
but  because  the  heart  was  exhausted.  The  circumstances 
of  his  death  recalled  that  of  his  mother  ;  and  we  might 
carry  the  sad  analogy  still  farther  in  his  increasing  pallor, 
and  the  slow  and  not  strong  pulse  which  always  characterized 
him.  This  would  perhaps  be  a  mistake.  It  is  difficult  to 
reconcile  any  idea  of  bloodlessness  with  the  bounding  vitality 
of  his  younger  body  and  mind.  Any  symptom  of  organic 
disease  could  scarcely,  in  his  case,  have  been  overlooked. 
But  so  much  is  certain  :  he  was  conscious  of  what  he  called 
a  nervousness  of  nature  which  neither  father  nor  grand- 
father could  have  bequeathed  to  him.  He  imputed  to  this, 
or,  in  other  words,  to  an  undue  physical  sensitiveness  to 
mental  causes  of  irritation,  his  proneness  to  deranged  Hver, 
and  the  asthmatic  conditions  which  he  believed,  rightly  or 
wrongly,  to  be  produced  by  it.  He  was  perhaps  mistaken 
in  some  of  his  inferences,  but  he  was  not  mistaken  in  the 
fact.  He  had  the  pleasures  as  well  as  the  pains  of  thia 
nervous  temperament ;  its  quick  response  to  every  con- 
genial stimulus  of  physical  atmosphere,  and  human  contact. 

'  [Hia  letters  to  Miss  Barrett  contain  frequent  references  to 
headaches,  but  not  to  sore  throats.  In  Italy,  on  the  other  hand,  hu 
health  appears  to  have  been  generally  good.] 


ROBERT   BROWNING  21 

It  heightened  the  enjoyment,  perhaps  exaggerated  the 
consciousness  of  his  physical  powers.  It  also  certainly  in  his 
later  years  led  him  to  overdraw  them.  Many  persons  have 
believed  that  he  could  not  live  without  society  ;  a  prolonged 
seclusion  from  it  would,  for  obvious  reasons,  have  been 
unsuited  to  him.  But  the  excited  gaiety  which  to  the  last 
he  carried  into  every  social  gathering  was  often  primarily 
the  result  of  a  moral  and  physical  effort  which  his  tempera- 
ment prompted,  but  his  strength  could  not  always  justify. 
Nature  avenged  herself  in  recurrent  periods  of  exhaustion, 
long  before  the  closing  stage  had  set  in. 

I  shall  subsequently  have  occasion  to  trace  this  nervous 
impressibility  through  various  aspects  and  relations  of  his 
life  ;  all  I  now  seek  to  show  is  that  this  healthiest  of  poets 
and  most  real  of  men  was  not  compounded  of  elements  of 
pure  health,  and  perhaps  never  could  have  been  so.  It 
might  sound  grotesque  to  say  that  only  a  delicate  woman 
could  have  been  the  mother  of  Robert  Browning.  The  fact 
remains  that  of  such  a  one,  and  no  other,  he  was  born  ;  and 
we  may  imagine,  without  being  fanciful,  that  his  father's 
placid  intellectual  powers  required  for  their  transmutation 
into  poetic  genius  just  this  infusion  of  a  vital  element  not 
only  charged  with  other  racial  and  individual  qualities,  but 
physically  and  morally  more  nearly  allied  to  pain.  Perhaps, 
even  for  his  happiness  as  a  man,  we  could  not  have  wished 
it  otherwise. 


I 
22  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1812- 


CHAPTER    III 

1812-1826 

Birth  of  Robert  Browning — His  Childhood  and  Schooldays — Rest- 
less Temperament — Brilliant  Mental  Endowments — Incidental 
^Peculiarities — Strong  Religious  Feeling — Passionate  Attach- 
ment to  his  Mother ;  Grief  at  first  Separation — Fondness  of 
Animals — Experiences  of  School  Life — Extensive  Reading — 
Early  Attempts  in  Verse — Letter  from  his  Father  concerning 
them — Spurious  Poems  in  Circulation — Incondita — Mr.  Fox — 
Lfiss  Flower. 

EoBEET  Browning  was  born,  as  has  been  often  repeated, 
at  Camberwell,^  on  May  7, 1812,  soon  after  a  great  comet  had 
disappeared  from  the  sky.  He  was  a  handsome,  vigorous, 
fearless  child,  and  soon  developed  an  unresting  activity  and 
a  fiery  temper.  He  clamoured  for  occupation  from  the 
moment  he  could  speak.  His  mother  could  only  keep  him 
quiet  when  once  he  had  emerged  from  infancy  by  telling  him 
stories — doubtless  Bible  stories — while  holding  him  on  her 
knee.  His  energies  were  of  course  destructive  till  they  had 
fojind  their  proper  outlet ;  but  we  do  not  hear  of  his  ever 
having  destroyed  anything  for  the  mere  sake  of  doing  so. 
His  first  recorded  piece  of  mischief  was  putting  a  handsome 
Brussels  lace  veil  of  his  mother's  into  the  fire ;  but  the 

*  [At   Hanover   Cottage,  Southampton  Street.     The  house  has 
been  pulled  down  and  the  whole  place  rebuilt.] 


1826]  ROBERT   BROWNING  S(3 

motive,  which  he  was  just  old  enough  to  lisp  out,  was  also 
his  excuse  :  "  A  pitty  baze  [pretty  blaze],  mamma."  Imagi- 
nation soon  came  to  his  rescue.  It  has  often  been  told 
how  he  extemporized  verse  aloud  while  walking  round  and 
round  the  dining-room  table  supporting  himself  by  his 
hands,  when  he  was  still  so  small  that  his  head  was  scarcely 
above  it.^  He  remembered  having  entertaiiied  his  mother 
in  the  very  first  walk  he  was  considered  old  enough  to  take 
with  her,  by  a  fantastic  account  of  his  possessions  in  houses, 
&c.,  of  which  the  topographical  details  elicited  from  her 
the  remark,  "  Why,  sir,  you  are  quite  a  geographer."  And 
though  this  kind  of  romancing  is  common  enough  among 
intelligent  children,  it  distinguishes  itself  in  this  case  by 
the  strong  impression  which  the  incident  had  left  on  his 
own  mind.  It  seems  to  have  been  a  first  real  flight  of 
dramatic  fancy,  confusing  his  identity  for  the  time  being. 

The  power  of  inventing  did  not,  however,  interfere 
with  his  readiness  to  learn,  and  the  facility  with  which  he 
acquired  whatever  knowledge  came  in  his  way  had,  on  one 
occasion,  inconvenient  results.  A  lady  of  reduced  fortunes 
kept  a  small  elementary  school  for  boys,  a  stone's-throw 
from  his  home  ;  and  he  was  sent  to  it  as  a  day  boarder  at 
so  tender  an  age  that  his  parents,  it  is  supposed,  had  no 
object  in  view  but  to  get  rid  of  his  turbulent  activity  for 
an  hour  or  two  every  morning  and  afternoon.  Neverthe- 
less, his  proficiency  in  reading  and  spelling  was  soon  so 
much  ahead  of  that  of  the  biggest  boy,  that  complaints 
broke  out  among  the  mammas,  who  were  sure  there  was 

*  [In  one  of  his  letters  to  Miss  Barrett  [Letters  of  B.  B.  and 
E.  B.  B.,  i.  403)  he  says,  "  I  was  unluckily  precocious — verses  at  sii 
years  old,  and  drawings  still  earlier."] 


24  LIIE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [I812- 

not  fair  play.     Mrs. was  neglecting  her  other  pupila 

for  the  sake  of  "  bringing  on  Master  Browning  ;  "  and  the 
poor  lady  found  it  necessary  to  discourage  Master  Browning's 
attendance  lest  she  should  lose  the  remainder  of  her  flock. 
This,  at  least,  was  the  story  as  he  himself  remembered  it. 
According  to  Miss  Browning  his  instructress  did  not  yield 
without  a  parting  shot.  She  retorted  on  the  discontented 
parents  that,  if  she  could  give  their  children  "Master 
Browning's  intellect,"  she  would  have  no  difficulty  in 
satisfying  them.  After  this  came  the  interlude  of  home- 
teaching,  in  which  all  his  elementary  knowledge  must  have 
been  gained.  As  an  older  child  he  was  placed  with  two 
Misses  Ready,  who  prepared  boys  for  entering  their  brother's 
(the  Rev.  Thomas  Ready's)  school ;  and  in  due  time  he 
passed  into  the  latter,  where  he  remained  up  to  the  age  of 
fourteen. 

He  seems  in  those  early  days  to  have  had  few  playmates 
beyond  his  sister,  two  years  younger  than  himself,  and 
whom  his  irrepressible  spirit  must  sometimes  have  frightened 
or  repelled.  Nor  do  we  hear  anything  of  childish  loves ; 
and  though  an  entry  appeared  in  his  diary  one  Sunday 
in  about  the  seventh  or  eighth  year  of  his  age,  "married 
two  wives  this  morning,"  it  only  referred  to  a  vague 
imaginary  appropriation  of  two  girls  whom  he  had  just  seen 
in  church,  and  whose  charm  probably  lay  in  their  being 
much  bigger  than  he.  He  was,  however,  capable  of  a  self- 
conscious  shyness  in  the  presence  of  even  a  little  girl ;  and 
his  sense  of  certain  proprieties  was  extraordinarily  keen. 
He  told  a  friend  that  on  one  occasion,  when  the  merest 
child,  he  had  edged  his  way  by  the  wall  from  one  point  of 
his  bedroom  to  another,  because  he  was  not  fully  clothed. 


1826]  ROBERT   BROWNING  25 

and  his  reflection  in  the  glass  could  otherwise  have  been 
seen  through  the  partly  open  door.^  "\ 

His  imaginative  emotions  were  largely  absorbed  by 
religion.  The  early  Biblical  training  had  had  its  effect, 
and  he  was,  to  use  his  own  words,  "  passionately  religious  " 
in  those  nursery  years  ;  but  during  them  and  many  suc- 
ceeding ones,  his  mother  filled  his  heart.  He  loved  her  so 
much,  he  was  once  heard  to  say,  that  even  as  a  grown  man 
he  could  not  sit  by  her  otherwise  than  with  an  arm  round 
her  waist.  It  is  difficult  to  measure  the  influence  which 
this  feeling  may  have  exercised  on  his  later  life ;  it  led, 
even  now,  to  a  strange  and  touching  little  incident  which 
had  in  it  the  incipient  poet  no  less  than  the  loving  child. 
His  attendance  at  Miss  Ready's  school  only  kept  him  from 
home  from  Monday  till  Saturday  of  every  week  ;  but  when 

1  Another  anecdote,  of  a  very  different  kind,  belongs  to  an  earlier 
period,  and  to  that  category  of  pure  naughtiness  which  could  not  fail 
to  be  sometimes  represented  in  the  conduct  of  so  gifted  a  child.  An 
old  lady  who  visited  his  mother,  and  was  characterized  in  the  family 
as  "  Aunt  Betsy,"  had  irritated  him  by  pronouncing  the  word 
"  lovers  "  with  the  contemptuous  jerk  which  the  typical  old  maid  is 
sometimes  apt  to  impart  to  it,  when  once  the  question  had  arisen 
why  a  certain  "  Lovers'  Walk  "  was  so  called.  He  was  too  nearly  a 
baby  to  imagine  what  a  "  lover  "  was ;  he  supposed  the  name  de- 
noted a  trade  or  occupation.  But  his  human  sjonpathy  resented 
Aunt  Betsy's  manner  as  an  affront ;  and  he  determined,  after  pro- 
bably repeated  provocation,  to  show  her  something  worse  than  a 
"  lover,"  whatever  this  might  be.  So  one  night  he  slipped  out  of 
bed,  exchanged  his  night-gown  for  what  he  considered  the  appro- 
priate undress  of  a  devil,  completed  this  by  a  paper  tail,  and  the 
ugliest  face  he  could  make,  and  rushed  into  the  drawing-room,  where 
the  old  lady  and  his  mother  were  drinking  tea.  He  was  snatched 
up  and  carried  away  before  he  had  time  to  judge  of  the  effect  of  hia 
apparition ;  but  he  did  not  think,  looking  back  upon  the  circmn- 
Btances  in  later  life,  that  Aunt  Betsy  had  deserved  quite  so  ill  of  hat 
iellow-creatures  as  he  then  believed. 


26  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [I812- 

called  upon  to  confront  his  first  five  days  of  banishment  he 
felt  sure  he  would  not  survive  them.  A  leaden  cistern 
belonging  to  the  school  had  in,  or  outside  it,  the  raised 
image  of  a  face.  He  chose  the  cistern  for  his  place  of 
burial,  and  converted  the  face  into  his  epitaph  by  passing 
his  hand  over  and  over  it  to  a  continuous  chant  of,  "  In 
memory  of  unhappy  Browning " — the  ceremony  being 
renewed  in  his  spare  moments,  till  the  acute  stage  of  the 
feeling  had  passed  away. 

The  fondness  for  animals,  for  which  through  life  he  was 
noted,  was  conspicuous  in  his  very  earlitst  days.  Hia 
urgent  demand  for  "  something  to  do "  would  constantly 
include  "  something  to  be  caught  "  for  him  :  "  they  were  to 
catch  him  an  eft ;  "  "  they  were  to  catch  him  a  frog."  He 
would  refuse  to  take  his  medicine  unless  bribed  by  the  gift 
of  a  speckled  frog  from  among  the  strawberries ;  and  the 
maternal  parasol,  hovering  above  the  strawberry  bed  during 
the  search  for  this  object  of  his  desires,  remained  a  standing 
picture  in  his  remembrance.  But  the  love  of  the  uncommon 
was  already  asserting  itself ;  and  one  of  his  very  juvenile 
projects  was  a  collection  of  rare  creatures,  the  first  contri- 
bution to  which  was  a  couple  of  lady-birds,  picked  up  one 
winter's  day  on  a  wall  and  immediately  consigned  to  a  box 
lined  with  cotton-wool,  and  labelled,  "  Animals  found  sur- 
viving in  the  depths  of  a  severe  winter."  Nor  did  curiosity 
in  this  case  weaken  the  power  of  sympathy.  His  passion 
for  birds  and  beasts  was  the  counterpart  of  his  father's  love 
of  children,  only  displaying  itself  before  the  age  at  which 
child  love  naturally  appears.  His  mother  used  to  read 
Croxall's  Fables  to  his  little  sister  and  him.  The  story 
contained  in  them  of  a  lion  who  was  kicked  to  death  by  an 


1826]  ROBERT  BROWNING  27 

ass  affected  him  so  painfully  that  he  could  no  longer  endure 
the  sight  of  the  book  ;  and  as  he  dared  not  destroy  it,  he 
buried  it  between  the  stuffing  and  the  woodwork  of  an  old 
dining-room  chair,  where  it  stood  for  lost,  at  all  events  for 
the  time  being.  When  first  he  heard  the  adventures  of  the 
parrot  who  insisted  on  leaving  his  cage,  and  who  enjoyed 
himself  for  a  little  while  and  then  died  of  hunger  and  cold, 
he — and  his  sister  with  him — cried  so  bitterly  that  it  was 
found  necessary  to  invent  a  different  ending,  according  to 
which  the  parrot  was  rescued  just  in  time  and  brought  back 
to  his  cage  to  live  peacefully  in  it  ever  after. 

As  a  boy,  he  kept  owls  and  monkeys,  magpies  and 
hedgehogs,  an  eagle,  and  even  a  couple  of  large  snakes, 
constantly  bringing  home  the  more  portable  creatures  in  his 
pockets,  and  transferring  them  to  his  mother  for  immediate 
care.  I  have  heard  him  speak  admiringly  of  the  skilful 
tenderness  with  which  she  took  into  her  lap  a  lacerated  cat, 
washed  and  sewed  up  its  ghastly  wound,  and  nursed  it  back 
to  health.  The  great  intimacy  with  the  life  and  habits  of 
animals  which  reveals  itself  in  his  works  is  readily  explained 
by  these  facts. 

Mr.  Ready's  establishment  was  chosen  for  him  as  the 
best  in  the  neighbourhood  ;  and  both  there  and  under  the 
preparatory  training  of  that  gentleman's  sisters,  the  young 
Eobert  was  well  and  kindly  cared  for.  The  Misses  Ready 
especially  concerned  themselves  with  the  spiritual  welfare  of 
their  pupils.  The  periodical  hair-brushings  were  accom- 
panied by  the  singing,  and  fell  naturally  into  the  measure, 
of  Watts's  hymns  ;  and  Mr.  Browning  in  later  years  gave 
his  friends  some  very  hearty  laughs  by  illustrating  with 
voice  and  gesture  the  ferocious  emphasis  with  which  the 


28  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1812- 

brush  would  swoop  down  in  the  accentuated  syllables  of 
the  following  lines : 

Lord,  'tis  a  pleasant  thing  to  stand 
In  gardens  planted  by  Thy  hand. 

•  ••••• 

Fools  never  raise  their  thoughts  so  high. 
Like  hrutes  they  live,  like  beutes  they  die. 

He  even  compelled  his  mother  to  laugh  at  it,  though  it  was 
sorely  against  her  nature  to  lend  herself  to  any  burlesquing 
of  piously  intended  things.^  He  had  become  a  bigger  boy 
since  the  episode  of  the  cistern,  and  had  probably  in  some 
degree  outgrown  the  intense  piety  of  his  earlier  childhood. 
This  little  incident  seems  to  prove  it.  On  the  whole,  how- 
ever, his  religious  instincts  did  not  need  strengthening, 
though  his  sense  of  humour  might  get  the  better  of  them 
for  a  moment ;  and  of  secular  instruction  he  seems  to  have 
received  as  little  from  the  one  set  of  teachers  as  from  the 
other.  I  do  not  suppose  that  the  mental  training  at  Mr. 
Eeady's  was  more  shallow  or  more  mechanical  than  that  of 
most  other  schools  of  his  own  or,  indeed,  of  a  much  later 
period  ;  but  the  brilliant  abilities  of  Robert  Browning 
inspired  him  with  a  certain  contempt  for  it,  as  also  for  the 
average  schoolboy  intelligence  to  which  it  was  apparently 
adapted.  It  must  be  for  this  reason  that,  as  he  himself 
declared,  he  never  gained  a  prize,  although  these  rewards 
were  showered  in  such  profusion  that  the  only  difficulty  was 
to  avoid  tliem  ;  and  if  he  did  not  make  friends  at  school 

*  In  spite  of  this  ludicrous  association  Mr.  Browning  alwayg 
recognized  great  merit  in  Watts's  hymns,  and  still  more  in  Dr. 
Watts  himself,  who  had  devoted  to  this  comparatively  humble  work 
intellectual  powers  competent  to  far  higher  things. 


1826]  ROBERT  BROWNING  29 

(for  this  also  has  been  somewhere  observed)/  it  can  only  be 
explained  in  the  same  way.  He  was  at  an  intolerant  age, 
and  if  his  schoolfellows  struck  him  as  more  backward  or 
more  stupid  than  they  need  be,  he  is  not  likely  to  have  taken 
pains  to  conceal  the  impression.  It  is  difficult,  at  all  events, 
to  think  of  him  as  unsQciat^e,  and  his  talents  certainly  had 
their  amusing  side.  Miss  Browning  tells  me  that  he  made 
his  schoolfellows  act  plays,  some  of  which  he  had  written 
for  them ;  and  he  delighted  his  friends,  not  long  before  his 
death,  by  mimicking  his  own  solemn  appearance  on  some 
breaking-up  or  commemorative  day,  when,  according  to 
programme,  "Master  Browning"  ascended  a  platform  in 
the  presence  of  assembled  parents  and  friends,  and,  in  best 
jacket,  white  gloves,  and  carefully  curled  hair,  with  a 
circular  bow  to  the  company  and  the  then  prescribed 
waving  of  alternate  arms,  delivered  a  high-flown  rhymed 
address  of  his  own  composition. 

And  during  the  busy  idleness  of  his  schooldays,  or,  at 
all  events,  in  the  holidays  in  wbich  he  rested  from  it,  he 
was  learning,  as  perhaps  only  those  do  learn  whose  real 
education  is  derived  from  home.  His  father's  house  was. 
Miss  Browning  tells  me,  literally  crammed  with  books ; 
and,  she  adds,  "  it  was  in  this  way  that  Robert  became  very 

•  It  was  in  no  case  literally  true.  William,  afterwards  Sir  William, 
Channel  was  leaving  Mr.  Ready  when  Browning  went  to  him  ;  but  a 
friendly  acquaintance  began,  and  was  afterwards  continued,  between 
the  two  boys ;  and  a  closer  friendship,  formed  with  a  younger  brother 
Frank,  was  only  interrupted  by  his  death.  Another  school  friend  or 
acquaintance  recalled  himself  as  such  to  the  poet's  memory  some 
ten  or  twelve  years  before  his  death,  A  man  who  has  reached  the 
age  at  which  his  boyhood  becomes  of  interest  to  the  world  may  even 
have  survived  many  such  relations.  [Nor  is  it  so  much  at  a  private 
as  at  a  public  school  that  hfelong  friendships  are  generally  formed.] 


30  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF  [1812- 

early  familiar  with  subjects  generally  unknown  to  boys." 
He  read  omnivorously,  though  certainly  not  without  guid- 
ance. One  of  the  books  he  best  and  earliest  loved  was 
Quarks'  EmUemes,  which  his  father  possessed  in  a  seven- 
teenth century  edition,  and  which  contains  one  or  two  very 
tentative  specimens  of  his  early  handwriting.  Its  quaint, 
powerful  lines  and  still  quainter  illustrations  combined  the 
marvellous  with  what  he  believed  to  be  true ;  and  he 
seemed  specially  identified  with  its  world  of  religious 
fancies  by  the  fact  that  the  soul  in  it  was  always  depicted 
as  a  child.  On  its  more  general  grounds  his  reading  was 
at  once  largely  literary  and  very  historical ;  and  it  was  in 
this  direction  that  the  paternal  influence  was  most  strongly 
revealed.  Quarles'  EmbJemes  was  only  one  of  the  large 
collection  of  old  books  which  Mr.  Browning  possessed  ;  and 
the  young  Eobert  learnt  to  know  each  favourite  author  in 
the  dress  as  well  as  the  language  which  carried  with  it  the 
life  of  his  period.  The  first  edition  of  Robinson  Crusoe; 
the  first  edition  of  Milton's  works,  bought  for  him  by  his 
father ;  *  a  treatise  on  astrology  published  twenty  yeara 
after  the  introduction  of  printing ;  the  original  pamphlet 
Killing  no  Murder  (1559),  which  Carlyle  borrowed  for  his 
Life  of  Cromwell ;  an  equally  early  copy  of  Bernard  Man- 
deville's  Bees ;  very  ancient  Bibles — are  some  of  the 
instances  which  occur  to  me.  Among  more  modern 
publications,  WaJpoles  Letters  were  familiar  to  him  in 
boyhood,  as  well  as  the  Letters  of  Junius  and  all  the  works 
of  Yoltaire. 

'  [A  copy  of  the  first  edition  of  Paradise  Lost  was  among  the 
books  left  behind  by  the  poet,  which  used  to  stand  in  the  PalazM 
Rezzonico  ;  but  it  was  stolen  thence  by  a  visitor.] 


1826]  ROBERT  BROWNING  31 

Ancient  poets  and  poetry  also  played  their  necessary 
part  in  the  mental  culture  superintended  by  Robert 
Browning's  father :  we  can  indeed  imagine  no  case  in 
which  they  would  not  have  found  their  way  into  the  boy's 
life.  Latin  poets  and  Greek  dramatists  came  to  him  in 
their  due  time,  though  his  special  delight  in  the  Greek 
language  only  developed  itself  later.  But  his  loving,  life- 
long familiarity  with  the  Elizabethan  school,  and  indeed 
with  the  whole  range  of  English  poetry,  seems  to  point  to 
a  more  constant  study  of  our  national  literature.  Byron 
was  his  chief  master  in  those  early  poetic  days.''  He  never 
ceased  to  honour  him  as  the  one  poet  who  combined  a 
constructive  imagination  with  the  more  technical  qualities 
of  his  art ;  and  the  result  of  this  period  of  testhetic  training 
was  a  volume  of  short  poems  produced,  we  are  told,  when 
he  was  only  twelve,  in  which  the  Byronic  influence  was 
predominant. 

The  young  author  gave  his  work  the  title  of  Incondita^ 
which  conveyed  a  certain  idea  of  depreciation.  He  was, 
nevertheless,  very  anxious  to  see  it  in  print ;  and  his  father 
and  mother,  poetry-lovers  of  the  old  school,  also  found  in 
it  sufficient  merit  to  justify  its  publication.  No  publisher, 
however,  could  be  found  ;  and  we  can  easily  believe  that 
he  soon  afterwards  destroyed  the  little  manuscript,  in 
some  mingled  reaction  of  disappointment  and  disgust.  But 
his  mother,  meanwhile,  had  shown  it  to  an  acquaintance  of 
hers.  Miss  Flower,  who  herself  admired  its  contents  so  much 
as  to  make  a  copy  of  them  for  the  inspection  of  her  friend, 
the  well-known  Unitarian  minister,  Mr.  W.  J.  Fox.     The 

>  [On  this  point  Bee  Letters  of  B.  B.  and  E.  B.  B.,  ii.  455,  which 
Vmply  that  his  admiration  was  not  without  intermission.] 


/ 


32  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  Lis  12- 

copy  was  transmitted  to  Mr.  Browning  after  Mr.  Fox'i 
death  by  his  daughter,  Mrs.  Bridell-Fox ;  and  this,  if  no 
other,  was  in  existence  in  1871,  when,  at  his  urgent  request, 
that  lady  also  returned  to  him  a  fragment  of  verse  con- 
tained in  a  letter  from  Miss  Sarah  Flower.  Nor  was  it  till 
much  later  thac  a  friend,  who  had  earnestly  begged  for  a 
sight  of  it,  definitely  heard  of  its  destruction.  The  fragment, 
which  doubtless  shared  the  same  fate,  was,  I  am  told,  a 
direct  imitation  of  Coleridge's  Fire,  Famine,  mid  Slaughter. 
These  poems  were  not  Mr.  Browning's  first.  It  would 
be  impossible  to  believe  them  such  when  we  remember  that 
he  composed  verses  long  before  he  could  write  ;  and  a 
carious  proof  of  the  opposite  fact  has  recently  appeared,  f 
Two  letters  of  the  elder  Mr.  Browning  found  their  way  /  ' 
into  the  market,  and  were  bought  respectively  by  Mr. 
Dykes  Campbell  and  Sir  F.  Leii:hton.  I  give  the  more 
important  of  them.  It  was  adJressed  to  Mr.  Thomas 
Powell : 

Dear  Sir, — I  hope  the  enclosed  may  be  acceptable  aa 
curiosities.  They  were  written  by  Eobert  when  quite  a 
child.  I  once  had  nearly  a  hundred  of  them.  But  he  has 
destroyed  all  that  ever  came  in  his  way,  having  a  great 
aversion  to  the  practice  of  many  biographers  in  recording 
every  triflmg  incident  that  falls  in  their  way.  He  has  not 
the  slightest  suspicion  that  any  of  his  very  juvenile  per- 
formances are  in  existence.  I  have  several  of  the  originala 
by  me.  They  are  all  extemporaneous  productions,  nor  hag 
any  one  a  single  alteration.  There  was  one  amongst  them 
"On  Bonaparte" — ^remarkably  beautiful — and  had  I  not 
seen  it  in  his  own  handwriting  I  never  would  have  believed 
it  to  have  been  the  production  of  a  child.     It  is  destroyed. 


1826]  ROBERT   BROWNING  33 

Pardon  my  troubling  you  with  these  specimens,  and  re- 
questino:  you  never  to  mention  it,  as  Robert  would  be  very 
much  hurt. 

I  remain,  dear  sir, 

Your  obedient  servant, 
E.  Beownikg. 
Bank:  March  11,  1843. 

The  letter  was  accompanied  by  a  sheet  of  verses  which 
have  been  sold  and  resold,  doubtless  in  perfect  good  faith, 
as  being  those  to  which  the  writer  alludes.  But  Miss 
Browning  has  recognized  them  as  her  father's  own  impromptu 
epigrams,  well  remembered  in  the  family,  together  with  the 
occasion  on  which  they  were  written.  The  substitution 
may,  from  the  first,  have  been  accidental. 

We  cannot  think  of  all  these  vanished  first-fruits  of  Mr. 
Browning's  genius  without  a  sense  of  loss,  all  the  greater 
perhaps  that  there  can  have  been  little  in  them  to  prefigure 
its  later  forms. ^  Their  faults  seem  to  have  lain  in  the 
direction  of  too  great  splendour  of  language  and  too  little, 
wealth  of  thought ;  and  Mr.  Fox,  who  had  read  Incondita 
and  been  struck  by  its  promise,  confessed  afterwards  to  Mr. 
Browning  that  he  had  feared  these  tendencies  as  his  future 
snare.  But  the  imitative  first  note  of  a  young  poet's  voice 
may  hold  a  rapture  of  inspiration  which  his  most  original 

'  [According  to  the  poet's  own  evidence,  his  earliest  poem  was 
Ossianic.  "  The  first  composition  I  ever  was  guilty  of  was  some- 
thing in  imitation  of  Ossian,  whom  I  had  not  read,  but  conceived 
through  two  or  three  scraps  in  other  books.  I  never  can  recollect 
not  writing  rhymes,  but  I  knew  they  were  nonsense  even  then  ;  this, 
however,  I  thought  exceedingly  well  of,  and  laid  up  for  posterity 
under  the  cushion  of  a  great  arm-chair.  ...  I  could  not  have  been 
five  years  old,  that's  one  cousolatiou."  [Letters  of  B.  B.  and 
E.  B.  B.,  n.  469.)] 

D 


34  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1812^ 

later  utterances  will  never  convey.  It  is  the  child  Sordello, 
singing  against  the  lark. 

Not  even  the  poet's  sister  ever  saw  lacondUa.  It  was 
the  only  one  of  his  finished  productions  which  Miss  Brown- 
ing did  not  read,  or  even  help  him  to  write  out.  She  was 
then  too  young  to  be  taken  into  his  confidence.  Its  writ- 
ing, however,  had  one  important  result.  It  procured  for 
the  boy-poet  a  preliminary  introduction  to  the  valuable 
literary  patron  and  friend  Mr.  Fox  was  subsequently  to  be. 
It  also  supplies  the  first  substantial  record  of  an  acquaint- 
ance which  made  a  considerable  impression  on  his  personal 
life. 

The  Miss  Flower,  of  whom  mention  has  been  made, 
was  one  of  two  sisters,  both  sufficiently  noted  for  their 
artistic  gifts  to  have  found  a  place  in  the  Dictionary  of 
National  Biography.  The  elder,  Eliza  or  Lizzie,  was  a 
musical  composer ;  the  younger,  best  known  as  Sarah 
Flower  Adams,  a  writer  of  sacred  verse.  Her  songs  and 
hymns,  including  the  well-known  "Nearer,  my  God,  to 
Thee,"  were  often  set  to  music  by  her  sister.^  They  sang, 
I  am  told,  delightfully  together,  and  often  without  accompani- 
ment, their  voices  perfectly  harmonizing  with  each  other. 
Both  were,  in  their  different  ways,  very  attractive  ;  both 
interesting,  not  only  from  their  talents,  but  from  their 
attachment  to  each  other,  and  the  delicacy  which  shortened 
their  lives.  They  died  of  consumption,  the  elder  in  1846, 
at  the  age  of  forty-three  ;  the  younger  a  year  later.  They 
became  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Browning  through  a  common 

*  She  also  wrote  a  dramatic  poem  in  five  acts,  entitled  Vivia 
Ferpetua,  referred  to  by  Mrs.  Jameson  in  her  Sacred  and  Legendary 
Art,  and  by  Leigh  Hunt,  when  he  spoke  of  her  in  Blue-Stocking 
Revels,  aa  "  Mrs.  Adams,  rare  mistresa  of  thought  and  of  tears." 


1826]  ROBERT  BROWNING  35 

friend,  Miss  Sturtevant ;  and  the  young  Robert  conceived  a 
warm  admiration  for  Miss  Flower's  talents,  and  a  boyish 
love  for  herself.  She  was  nine  years  his  senior ;  her  own 
affections  became  probably  engaged,  and,  as  time  advanced, 
his  feelings  seem  to  have  subsided  into  one  of  warm  and 
very  loyal  friendship.  We  hear,  indeed,  of  his  falling  in 
love,  as  he  was  emerging  from  his  teens,  with  a  handsome 
girl  who  was  on  a  visit  at  his  father's  house.  But  the 
fancy  died  out  "  for  want  of  root."  The  admiration,  even 
tenderness,  for  Miss  Flower  had  so  deep  a  "  root "  that  he 
never  in  latest  life  mentioned  her  name  with  indifference. 
In  a  letter  to  j\Ir.  Dykes  Campbell,  in  1881,  he  spoke  of  her 
as  "a  very  remarkable  person."  If,  in  spite  of  his  denials, 
any  woman  inspired  Pauline,  it  can  be  no  other  than  she. 
He  began  writing  to  her  at  twelve  or  thirteen,  probably  on 
the  occasion  of  her  expressed  sympathy  with  his  first  dis- 
tinct effort  of  authorship  ;  and  what  he  afterwards  called 
"  the  few  utterly  insignificant  scraps  of  letters  and  verse  " 
which  formed  his  part  of  the  correspondence  were  preserved 
by  her  as  long  as  she  lived.  But  he  recovered  and 
destroyed  them  after  his  return  to  England,  with  all  the 
other  reminiscences  of  those  early  years.  Some  notes,  how- 
ever, are  extant,  dated  respectively,  1841,  1842,  and  1845, 
and  will  be  given  in  their  due  place. 

Mr,  Fox  was  a  friend  of  Miss  Flower's  father  (Benjamin 
Flower,  known  as  the  editor  of  the  Cambridge  Intelligencer), 
and,  at  his  death,  in  1829,  became  co-executor  to  his  will  and 
a  kind  of  guardian  to  his  daughters,  then  both  unmarried, 
and  motherless  from  their  infancy.  Eliza's  principal 
work  was  a  collection  of  hymns  and  anthems,  originally 
composed  for  Mr.  Fox's  chapel,  where  she  had  assumed  tha 


LIFE  AND   LETTERS   OF 


[1826 


entire  management  of  the  choral  part  of  the  service.  Her 
abilities  were  not  confined  to  music ;  she  possessed,  I  am 
told,  an  instinctive  taste  and  judgement  in  literary  matters 
which  caused  her  opinion  to  be  much  valued  by  literary 
men.  But  Mr.  Browning's  genuine  appreciation  of  her 
musical  genius  was  probably  the  strongest  permanent 
bond  between  them.  We  shall  hear  of  this  in  his  own 
wordib 


\ 


ROBERT  BROWNING  S7 


CHAPTER  IV 

1826-1833 

First  Impressions  of  Keats  and  Shelley — Prolonged  Influence  of 
Shelley — Details  of  Home  Education — Its  Effects — Youthful 
Eestlessness — Counteracting  Love  of  Home — Early  Friend- 
ships :  Alfred  Domett,  Joseph  Arnould,  the  Silverthornes — 
Choice  of  Poetry  as  a  Profession —Alternative  Suggestions; 
mistaken  Kumours  concerning  them — Interest  in  Art — Love 
of  good  Theatrical  Performances— Talent  for  Acting — Final 
Preparation  for  Literary  Life. 

At  the  period  at  which  we  have  arrived,  which  is  that  of  his 
leaving  school  and  completing  his  fourteenth  year,  another 
and  a  significant  influence  was  dawning  on  Robert  Brown- 
ing's Hfe — the  influence  of  the  poet  Shelley.  Mr.  Sharp 
writes,^  and  I  could  only  state  the  facts  in  similar  words, 
"  Passing  a  bookstall  one  day,  he  saw,  in  a  box  of  second- 
hand volumes,  a  little  book  advertised  as  '  Mr.  Shelley's 
Atheistical  Poem  :  very  scarce.'  "  .  .  .  "  From  vague 
remarks  in  reply  to  his  inquiries,  and  from  one  or  two 
casual  allusions,  he  learned  that  there  really  was  a  poet 
called  Shelley  ;  that  he  had  written  several  volumes ;  that 
he  was  dead."  ..."  He  begged  his  mother  to  procure  him 
Shelley's  works,  a  request  not  easily  complied  with,  for  the 
excellent  reason  that  not  one  of  the  local  booksellers  had 

*  Life  of  Browning,  pp.  30,  31, 


38  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1826- 

8ven  heard  of  the  poet's  name.  Ultimately,  however,  Mrs. 
Browning  learned  that  what  she  sought  was  procurable  at 
the  Olliers',  in  Yere  Street,  London." 

Mrs.  Browning  went  to  Messrs.  Oilier,  and  brought  back 
•'  most  of  Shelley's  writings,  all  in  their  first  edition,  with 
the  exception  of  *  The  Ccnci.' "  She  brought  also  three 
volumes  of  the  still  less  known  John  Keats,  on  being  assured 
that  one  who  liked  Shelley's  works  would  like  these  also.^ 

Keats  and  Shelley  must  always  remain  connected  in  this 
epoch  of  Mr.  Browning's  poetic  growth.  They  indeed  came 
to  him  as  the  two  nightingales  which,  he  told  some  friends, 
sang  together  in  the  May-night  which  closed  this  eventful 
day  ;  one  in  the  laburnum  in  his  father's  garden,  the  other 
in  a  copper  beech  which  stood  on  adjoining  ground — with 
the  difference,  indeed,  that  he  must  often  have  listened  to 
the  feathered  singers  before,  while  the  two  new  human 
voices  sounded  from  what  were  to  him,  as  to  so  many  later 
hearers,  unknown  heights  and  depths  of  the  imaginative 
world.  Their  utterance  was,  to  such  a  spirit  as  his,  the 
last,  as  in  a  certain  sense  the  first,  word  of  what  poetry  can 
say ;  and  no  one  who  ever  heard  him  read  the  Ode  to  a 
Nightingale,  and  repeat  in  the  same  subdued  tones,  as  if 
continuing  his  own  thoughts,  some  line  from  Epipsychidion, 

*  [Mr.  Browning's  own  recollection  of  this  incident  was  rather 
diSerent.  In  answer  to  a  question  from  Mr.  T.  J.  Wise,  he  wrote 
on  March  3,  183G  :  "  As  for  the  early  editions  of  Shelley,  they  were 
ohtained  for  mo  some  time  before  1830  (or  even  earlier)  in  the 
regular  way  from  Hunt  and  Clarke,  in  consequence  of  a  direction  I 
obtained  from  the  Literary  Gazette.  ...  I  got,  at  the  same  time 
nearly,  Endymion  and  Lamia,  etc.,  just  as  if  they  had  been  pur- 
chased a  week  before,  and  not  years  after,  the  death  of  Keats  "  (Wise, 
Letters  of  Robert  Browning,  printed  for  private  circulation,  voL  ii* 
1896,  p.  52).] 


1833]  ROBERT  BROWNING  S9 

can  doubt  that  they  retained  a  lasting  and  almost  equal 
place  in  his  poet's  heart.^  But  the  two  cannot  be  reparded 
*is  equals  in  their  relation  to  his  life,  and  it  would  be  a 
^reat  mistake  to  impute  to  either  any  important  influence 
upon  his  genius.  We  may  catch  some  fleeting  echoes  of 
Keats's  melody  in  Pippa  Passes ;  it  is  almost  a  common- 
place that  some  measure  of  Shelleyan  fancy  is  recognizable 
in  Pauline.  But  the  poetic  individuality  of  Robert  Brown- 
ing was  stronger  than  any  circumstance  through  which  it 
could  be  fed.  It  would  have  found  nourishment  in  desert 
air.  With  his  first  accepted  work  he  threw  off  what  was 
foreign  to  his  poetic  nature,  to  be  thenceforward  his  own 
never-to-be-subdued  and  never-to-be-mistaken  self.  If 
Shelley  became,  and  long  remained  for  him,  the  greatest 
poet  of  his  age — of  almost  any  age — it  was  not  because  he 
held  him  greatest  in  the  poetic  art,  but  because  in  his  case, 
beyond  all  others,  he  believed  its  exercise  to  have  been 
prompted  by  the  truest  spiritual  inspiration. 

It  is  difficult  to  trace  the  process  by  which  this  convic- 
tion formed  itself  in  the  boy's  mind ;  still  more  to  account 
for  the  strong  personal  tenderness  which  accompanied  ifc. 
The  facts  can  have  been  scarcely  known  which  were  to 
present  Shelley  to  his  imagination  as  a  maligned  and  perse- 
cuted man.  It  is  hard  to  judge  how  far  such  human 
qualities  as  we  now  read  into  his  work  could  be  apparent  to 
one  who  only  approached  him  through  it.  But  the  extra- 
human  note  in  Shelle/s_genius  irresistibly  suggested  to  the 
Browning  of  fourteen,  as  it  still  did  to  the  Browning  of 

*  [Not  quite  lasting  in  the  case  of  Shelley,  according  to  a  letter 
written  in  1885  to  Dr.  Fumivall,  and  quoted  by  Professor  Dowdea 
in  his  Robert  Browning,  p.  10.] 


40  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1826- 

forty,  the  presence  of  a  lofty  spirit,  one  dwelling  in  the 
communion  of  higher  things.  There  was  often  a  deep  sad- 
ness in  his  utterance ;  the  consecration  of  an  early  death 
was  upon  him.  And  so  the  worship  rooted  itself  and  grew. 
It  was  to  find  its  lyrical  expression  in  Pauline ;  its  rational 
and,  from  the  writer's  point  of  view,  philosophic  justifica- 
tion in  the  prose  essay  on  Shelley,  published  eighteen  years 
afterwards. 

It  may  appear  inconsistent  with  the  nature  of  this  in- 
fluence that  it  began  by  appealing  to  him  in  a  subversive 
form.  The  Shelley  whom  Browning  first  loved  was  the 
Shelley  of  Queen  Mab,  the  Shelley  who  would  have  re- 
modelled the  whole  system  of  reUgious  belief,  as  of  human 
duty  and  rights  ;  and  the  earliest  result  of  the  new  develop- 
ment was  that  he  became  a  professing  atheist,  and,  for  two 
years,  a  practising  vegetarian.  He  returned  to  his  natural 
diet  when  he  found  his  eyesight  becoming  weak.  The 
atheism  cured  itself ;  we  do  not  exactly  know  when  or 
how.  What  we  do  know  is,  that  it  was  with  him  a  passing 
state  of  moral  or  imaginative  rebellion,  and  not  one  of 
rational  doubt.  His  mind  was  not  so  constituted  that  such 
doubt  could  fasten  itself  upon  it ;  nor  did  he  ever  in  after- 
life speak  of  this  period  of  negation  except  as  an  access  of 
boyish  folly,  with  which  his  maturer  self  could  have  no 
concern.  The  return  to  religious  belief  did  not  shake  his 
faith  in  his  new  prophet.  It  only  made  him  willing  to 
admit  he  had  misread  him. 

This  Shelley  period  of  Robert  Browning's  life— that 
which  intervened  between  Incondita  and  Pauline — remained, 
nevertheless,  one  of  rebellion  and  unrest,  to  which  many 
circumstances  may  have  contributed  besides  the  ir.fluencQ 


1S33]  ROBERT   BROWNING  41 

of  the  one  mind.  It  bad  been  decided  tbat  be  was  to 
complete,  or  at  all  events  continue,  bis  education  at  borne  ; 
and,  knowing  tbe  elder  Mr.  Browning  as  we  do,  we  cannot 
doubt  that  tbe  best  reasons,  of  kindness  or  expediency,  led 
to  bis  so  deciding.  It  was  none  the  less,  probably,  a  mis- 
take, for  tbe  time  being.  The  conditions  of  home  life  were 
the  more  favourable  for  the  young  poet's  imaginative 
growth  ;  but  there  can  rarely  have  been  a  boy  whose  moral 
and  mental  health  had  more  to  gain  by  the  combined  dis- 
cipline and  freedom  of  a  public  school.  His  borne  training 
was  made  to  include  everything  which  in  those  days  went 
to  the  production  of  an  accomplished  gentleman,  and  a 
great  deal  therefore  that  was  physically  good.  He  learned 
music,  singing,  dancing,  riduig,  boxing,  and  fencing,  and 
excelled  in  tbe  more  active  of  these  pursuits.  The  study 
of  music  was  also  serious,  and  carried  on  under  two  masters. 
Mr.  John  Relfe,  author  of  a  valuable  work  on  counterpoint, 
was  bis  instructor  in  thorough-bass  ;  Mr.  Abel,  a  pupil  of 
Moscbeles,  in  execution.  He  wrote  music  for  songs  which 
he  himself  sang ;  among  them  Donne's  Go  and  catch  a 
falling  star ;  Hood's  I  ivill  not  have  the  mad  CUjtie;  Pea- 
cock's The  mountain  sheep  are  sweeter ;  and  his  settings,  all 
of  which  he  subserjuently  destroyed,  were,  I  am  told,  very 
spirited.  His  education  seems  otherwise  to  have  bjen 
purely  literary.  For  two  years,  from  the  age  of  fourteen 
to  that  of  sixteen,  he  studied  with  a  French  tutor,  who, 
whether  this  was  intended  or  not,  imparted  to  him  very 
little  but  a  good  knowledge  of  tbe  French  language  and 
literature.  In  his  eighteenth  year  he  attended,  for  a  term  or 
two.  Prof.  Long's  Greek  class  at  University  College,  London. 
His  classical  and  other  reading  was  probably  continued. 


42  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [!826- 

But  we  hear  nothing  in  the  programme  of  mathematics,  or 
logic — of  any,  in  short,  of  those  subjects  which  train,  even 
coerce,  the  thinking  powers,  and  which  were  doubly  requi- 
site for  a  nature  in  which  the  creative  imagination  was 
predominant  over  all  the  other  mental  faculties,  great  as 
these  other  faculties  were.  And,  even  as  a  poet,  he  suffered 
from  this  omission  :  since  the  involutions  and  overlappings 
of  thought  and  phrase,  which  occur  in  his  earlier  and  again 
in  his  latest  works,  must  have  been  partly  due  to  his  never 
learning  to  follow  the  processes  of  more  normally  con- 
stituted minds.  It  would  be  a  great  error  to  suppose  that 
they  ever  arose  from  the  absence  of  a  meanmg  clearly  felt, 
if  not  always  clearly  thought  out,  by  himself.  He  was 
storing  his  memory  and  enriching  his  mind  ;  but  precisely 
in  so  doing  he  was  nourishing  the  consciousness  of  a  very 
vivid  and  urgent  personality ;  and,  under  the  restrictions 
inseparable  from  the  life  of  a  home-bred  youth,  it  was 
becoming  a  burden  to  him.  What  outlet  he  found  in  verse 
we  do  not  know,  because  nothing  survives  of  what  he  may 
then  have  written.  It  is  possible  that  the  fate  of  his  early 
poems,  and,  still  more,  the  change  of  ideals,  retarded  the 
definite  impulse  towards  poetic  production.  It  would  be  a 
relief  to  him  to  sketch  out  and  elaborate  the  plan  of  his 
future  work — his  great  mental  portrait  gallery  of  typical 
men  and  women ;  and  he  was  doing  so  during  at  least  the 
later  years  which  preceded  the  birth  of  Fauline.  But  even 
this  must  have  been  the  result  of  some  protracted  travail 
with  himself  ;  because  it  was  only  the  inward  sense  of  very 
varied  possibilities  of  existence  which  could  have  impelled 
him  towards  this  kind  of  creation.  No  character  he  ever 
produced  was  merely  a  figment  of  the  brain. 


I     1833)  ROBERT  BROWNING  43 

It  was  natural,  therefore,  that  during  this  time  of 
growth  he  should  have  been,  not  only  more  restless,  but 
less  amiable  than  at  any  other.  The  always  impatient 
temper  assumed  a  quality  of  aggressiveness.  He  behaved 
as  a  youth  will  who  knows  himself  to  be  clever,  and 
believes  that  he  is  not  appreciated,  because  the  crude  or 
paradoxical  forms  which  his  cleverness  assumes  do  not 
recommend  it  to  his  elders'  minds.  He  set  the  judgementsi 
of  those  about  him  at  defiance,  and  gratuitously  pro- 
claimed himself  everything  that  he  was,  and  some  things 
that  he  was  not.  All  this  subdued  itself  as  time  advanced, 
and  the  coming  man  in  him  could  throw  off  the  wayward 
child.  It  was  all  so  natural  that  it  might  well  be  forgotten. 
But  it  distressed  his  mother,  the  one  beiug  in  the  world  X.^ 
whom  he  entirely  loved  ;  and  deserves  remembering  in  the 
tender  sorrow  with  which  he  himself  remembered  it.  He 
was  always  ready  to  say  that  he  had  been  worth  Httle  in 
his  young  days ;  indeed,  his  self -depreciation  covered  the 
greater  part  of  his  life.  This  was,  perhaps,  one  reason  of 
the  difficulty  of  inducing  him  to  dwell  upon  his  past.  "  I 
am  better  now,"  he  has  said  more  than  once,  when  its 
reminiscences  have  been  invoked. 

One  tender  little  bond  maintained  itself  between  his 
mother  and  himself  so  long  as  he  lived  under  the  paternal 
roof  ;  it  was  his  rule  never  to  go  to  bed  without  giving  her 
a  good-night  kiss.  If  he  was  out  so  late  that  he  had  to 
admit  himself  with  a  latch-key,  he  nevertheless  went  to  her 
in  her  room.  Nor  did  he  submit  to  this  as  a  necessary 
restraint ;  for,  except  on  the  occasions  of  his  going  abroad, 
it  is  scarcely  on  record  that  he  ever  willingly  spent  a  night 
away  from  home.     It  may  not  stand  for  much,  or  it  may 


44  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1826- 

stand  to  the  credit  of  his  restlessness,  that,  when,  he  had 
been  placed  with  some  gentleman  in  Gower  Street,  for  the 
convenience  of  attending  the  University  lectures,  or  fo"* 
the  sake  of  preparing  for  them,  he  broke  through  the 
arrangement  at  the  end  of  a  week ;  but  even  an  agreeable 
visit  had  no  power  to  detain  him  beyond  a  few  days. 

This  home-loving  quality  was  in  curious  contrast  to  the 
natural  bohemianism  of  youthful  genius,  and  the  inclination 
to  wildness  which  asserted  itself  in  his  boyish  days.  It 
became  the  more  striking  as  he  entered  upon  the  age  at 
which  no  reasonable  amount  of  freedom  can  have  been 
denied  to  him.  Something,  perhaps,  must  be  allowed  for 
the  pecuniary  dependence  which  forbade  his  forming  any 
expensive  habits  of  amusement  ;  but  he  also  claims  the 
credit  of  having  been  unable  to  accept  any  low-life  pleasures 
in  place  of  them,  I  do  not  know  how  the  idea  can  have 
arisen  that  he  willingly  sought  his  experience  in  the  society 
of  "  gipsies  and  tramps."  I  remember  nothing  in  his  works 
which  even  suggests  such  association  ;  and  it  is  certain  that 
a  few  hours  spent  at  a  fair  would  at  all  times  have  ex- 
hausted his  capability  of  enduring  it.  In  the  most  audacious 
imaginings  of  his  later  life,  in  the  most  undisciplined  acts 
of  his  early  youth,  were  always  present  curious  delicacies 
and  reserves.  There  was  always  latent  in  him  the  real 
goodness  of  heart  which  would  not  allow  him  to  trifle 
consciously  with  other  lives.  Work  must  also  have  been 
bis  safeguard  when  the  habit  of  it  had  been  acquired,  and 
when  imagination,  once  his  master,  had  learned  to  serve 
him. 

One  tangible  cause  of  his  youthful  restlessness  has  been 
implied  in  the  foregoing  remarks,  but  deserves  stating  in 


18331  ROBERT   BROWNING  45 

his  sistei's  words :  "  The  fact  was,  poor  boy,  he  had  out- 
grown his  social  surroundings.  They  were  absolutely  good, 
but  they  were  narrow  ;  it  could  not  be  otherwise  ;  he  chafed 
under  them."  He  was  not,  however,  quite  without  con- 
genial society  even  before  the  turning-point  in  his  outward 
existence  which  was  reached  in  the  publication  of  Pauline ; 
and  two  lasting  friendships  had  their  roots  in  those  early 
Camberwell  days.  The  families  of  Joseph  Arnould  and 
Alfred  Domett  both  lived  at  Camberwell.  These  two  young 
men  were  bred  to  the  legal  profession,  and  the  former, 
afterwards  Sir  Joseph  Arnould,  became  a  judge  in  Bombay. 
But  the  father  of  Alfred  Domett  had  been  an  officer  in  the 
Royal  Navy,  and  subsequently  in  the  merchant  service,  and 
the  roving  sailor  spirit  was  apparent  in  his  son  ;  for  he  had 
scarcely  been  called  to  the  Bar  when  he  started  for  New 
Zealand  on  the  instance  of  a  cousin  who  had  preceded  him, 
but  who  was  drowned  in  the  course  of  a  day's  surveying 
before  he  could  arrive.  He  became  an  active  Government 
official,  a  member  of  the  New  Zealand  Parliament,  and 
ultimately,  for  a  short  time,  Prime  Minister  of  the  Colony  ; 
only  returning  to  England  in  1871,  after  an  absence  of 
thirty  years.  Mr.  Domett  seems  to  have  been  a  very  modest 
man,  besides  a  devoted  friend  of  Robert  Browning's,  and 
on  occasion  a  warm  defender  of  his  works.^  When  he  read 
the  apostrophe  to  "  Alfred,  dear  friend,"  in  the  Guardian 
Angel,  he  had  reached  the  last  line  before  it  occurred  to 
him  that  the  person  invoked  could  be  he.  I  do  not  think 
that  this  poem,  and  that  directly  addressed  to  him  under 

*  [One  of  his  published  poems  is  a  vigorous  denunciation  of  an 
nnsympathetic  reviewer  of  Pippa  Passes  (see  p.  103).  His  volume 
entitled  Flotsam  and  Jetsam,  published  in  1877,  contains  an  afieo» 
tionate  dedication  to  Robert  Browning.] 


46  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [182G- 

the  pseudonym  of  "  "Waring,"  were  the  only  ones  inspired 
by  the  affectionate  remembrance  which  he  had  left  in  their 
author's  mind.^ 

Among  his  boy  companions  were  also  the  three  Silver- 
thornes,  his  neighbours  at  Camberwell,  and  cousins  on 
the  maternal  side.  They  appear  to  have  been  wild  youths, 
and  had  certainly  no  part  in  his  intellectual  or  literary  life  ; 
but  the  group  is  interesting  to  his  biographer.  The  three 
brothers  were  all  gifted  musicians ;  having  also,  probably, 
received  this  endowment  from  their  mother's  father.  Mr. 
Browning  conceived  a  great  affection  for  the  eldest,  and  on 
the  whole  most  talented,  of  the  cousins  ;  and  when  he  had 
died — young,  as  t(iey  all  did — he  wrote  May  and  Death  in 
remembrance  of  him.  The  name  of  "  Charles"  stands  there 
for  the  old,  familiar  "Jim,"  so  often  uttered  by  him  in 
half -pitying  and  all-affectionate  allusion,  in  his  later  years. 
Mrs.  Silverthorne  was  the  aunt  who  paid  for  the  printing  of 
Pauline. 

It  was  at  about  the  time  of  his  short  attendance  at 

Umversity  College  that  the  choice  of  poetry  as  his  future 

*  [The  friendship  between  Browning,  Domett,  and  Arnould  has 
recently  been  brought  into  a  clearer  light  by  the  appearance  of  the 
letters  which  Domett,  after  his  departure  for  New  Zealand,  received 
from  his  two  friends.  They  have  been  published  in  Robert  Browning 
and  Alfred  Domett,  by  the  present  editor,  in  1906.  They  contain 
references  to  other  friends  (notably  Christopher  Dowson),  and  are  of 
considerable  importance  for  the  knowledge  of  Browning's  early  life 
and  character.  It  must  be  observed,  however,  that  it  was  not  until 
about  1840  that  the  friendship  with  Domett  commenced  (though 
Browning  had  been  at  school  with  two  of  his  brothers),  and  the 
friendship  with  Arnould  seems  to  have  been  of  about  the  same 
standing.  Of  Browning's  associates  and  occupations  before  the 
publication  of  Pauline  really  very  little  is  known.  His  education 
was  mainly  at  home,  and  his  acquaintances  (except  Miss  Flower) 
Bot  of  a  kind  which  left  miach  mark  on  his  later  life.] 


1833]  ROBERT  BROWNING  47 

profession  was  formally  made.  It  was  a  foregone  conclusion 
in  the  young  Robert's  mind ;  and  little  less  in  that  of  his 
father,  who  took  too  sympathetic  an  interest  in  his  son's 
life  not  to  have  seen  in  what  direction  his  desires  were 
tending.  He  must,  it  is  true,  at  some  time  or  other,  have 
played  with  the  thought  of  becoming  an  artist ;  but  the 
thought  can  never  have  represented  a  wish.  If  he  had 
entertained  such  a  one,  it  would  have  met  not  only  with  no 
opposition  on  his  father's  part,  but  with  a  very  ready 
assent,  nor  does  the  question  ever  seem  to  have  been 
seriously  mooted  in  the  family  councils.  It  would  be 
strange,  perhaps,  if  it  had.  Mr.  Browning  became  very 
early  familiar  with  the  names  of  the  great  painters,  and 
also  learned  something  about  their  work  ;  for  the  Dulwich 
Gallery  was  within  a  pleasant  walk  of  his  home,^  and  his 
father  constantly  took  him  there.  lie  retained  through  life 
a  deep  interest  in  art  and  artists,  and  became  a  very  familiar 
figure  in  one  or  two  London  studios.  Some  drawings  made 
by  him  from  the  nude,  in  Italy,  and  for  which  he  had 
prepared  himse'f  by  assiduous  copying  of  casts  and  study  of 
human  anatomy,  had,  I  believe,  great  merit.  But  painting 
was  one  of  the  subjects  in  which  he  never  received  instruc- 
tion, though  he  modelled,  under  the  direction  of  his  friend 
Mr.  Story  ;  and  a  letter  of  his  own  will  presently  show 
that,  in  his  youth  at  least,  he  never  credited  himself  with 
exceptional  artistic  power.  That  he  might  have  become  an 
artist,  and  perhaps  a  great  one,  is  difficult  to  doubt,  in  the 
face  of  his  brilliant  general  ability  and  special  gifts.     The 

*•  ["A  green  half-liour's  walk  over  the  fields"  [Letters  of  R.  B. 
and  E.  B.  B.,  i.  529).  The  whole  passage  expresses  his  devotion  to 
the  Dulwich  Gallery.] 


-T- 


48  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1826- 

power  to  do  a  thing  is,  however,  distinct  from  the  impulse 
to  do  it,  and  proved  so  in  the  present  case. 

More  importance  may  be  given  to  an  idea  of  his  father's 
that  he  should  qualify  himself  for  the  Bar.  It  would 
naturally  coincide  with  the  widening  of  the  social  horizon 
which  his  University  College  classes  suppUed ;  it  was 
possibly  suggested  by  the  fact  that  the  closest  friends  he  had 
already  made  (Domett  and  Arnould),  and  others  whom  he 
was  perhaps  now  making,  were  barristers.  But  this  also 
remained  an  idea.  He  might  have  been  placed  in  the  Bank 
of  England,  where  the  virtual  offer  of  an  appointment  had 
been  made  to  him  through  his  father ;  but  the  elder 
Browning  spontaneously  rejected  this,  as  unworthy  of  his 
son's  powers.  He  had  never,  he  said,  liked  bank  work 
himself,  and  could  not,  therefore,  impose  it  on  him. 

We  have  still  to  notice  another,  and  a  more  mistaken 
view  of  the  possibilities  of  Mr.  Browning's  life.  It  has 
been  recently  stated,  doubtless  on  the  authority  of  some 
words  of  his  own,  that  the  Church  was  a  profession  to 
which  he  once  felt  himself  drawn.  But  an  admission  of 
this  kind  could  only  refer  to  that  period  of  his  childhood 
when  natural  impulse,  combined  with  his  mother's  teaching 
and  guidance,  frequently  caused  his  fancy  and  his  feelings 
to  assume  a  religious  form.  From  the  time  when  he  was  a 
free  agent  he  ceased  to  be  even  a  regular  churchgoer, 
though  rehgion  became  more,  rather  than  less,  an  integral 
part  of  his  inner  life  ;  and  his  alleged  fondness  for  a  variety 
.  of  preachers  meant  really  that  he  only  listened  to  those  who, 
'  from  personal  association  or  conspicuous  merit,  were  interest- 
ing to  him.  I  have  mentioned  Canon  Melvill  as  one  of 
these;    the   Eev.    Thomas  Jones  was,  as  will  be    seen, 


1833]  ROBERT  BROWNING  49 

another.  In  Yenice  he  constantly,  with  his  sister,  joined 
the  congregation  of  an  Italian  minister  of  the  little  Yaudois 
church  there.^ 

It  would  be  far  less  surprising  if  we  were  told  on 
sufficient  authority  that  he  had  been  disturbed  by  hanker- 
ings for  the  stage.  He  was  a  passionate  admirer  of  good 
acting,  and  would  walk  from  London  to  Richmond  and 
'ack  again  to  see  Edmund  Kean  when  he  was  performing 
fehere.  "We  know  how  Macready  impressed  him,  though  the 
finer  genius  of  Kean  became  very  apparent  to  his  retrospec- 
tive judgement  of  the  two  ;  and  it  was  impossible  to  see  or 
hear  him,  even  as  an  old  man,  in  some  momentary  persona- 
tion of  one  of  Shakespeare's  characters,  above  all  of 
Richard  III.,  and  not  feel  that  a  great  actor  had  been  lost 
in  him. 

So  few  professions  were  thought  open  to  gentlemen  in 
Robert  Browning's  eighteenth  year,  that  his  father's  acquies- 
cence in  that  which  he  had  chosen  might  seem  a  matter 
scarcely  less  of  necessity  than  of  kindae^s.  But  we  must 
seek  the  kindness  not  only  in  this  first,  almost  inevitable, 
assent  to  his  son's  becoming  a  writer,  but  in  the  subsequent 
unfailing  readiness  to  support  him  in  his  literary  career. 
Paracelsus,  Sordello,  and  the  whole  of  Bells  and  Pomegranates 


were  published  at  his  fathpj'a  p.xpp.ivafly-amL,..inci-.fiAihIa-a«  it 

^Sppears,    brought   no   return   to   him.      This   Weas    vividly 

*  Mr.  Browning's  memory  recalled  a  first  and  last  effort  at 
preaching,  inspired  by  one  of  his  very  earliest  visits  to  a  place  of 
worship.  He  extemporized  a  surplice  or  gown,  climbed  into  an 
arm-chair  by  way  of  pulpit,  and  held  forth  so  vehemently  that  his 
scarcely  raore  than  baby  sister  was  frightened  and  began  to  cry ; 
whereupon  he  turned  to  an  imaginary  presence,  and  said,  with  all 
the  sternness  which  the  occasion  required,  "  Pew-opener,  remov® 
that  child." 

S 


50  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1833 

present  to  Mr.  Browning's  mind  in  what  Mrs.  Kemble  so 
justly  defines  as  those  "remembering  days"  which  are  the 
natural  prelude  to  the  forgetting  ones.  He  declared,  in  the 
course  of  these,  to  a  friend,  that  for  it  alone  he  owed  more 
to  his  father  than  to  any  one  else  in  the  world.  Words  to 
this  effect,  spoken  in  conversation  with  his  sister,  have 
since,  as  it  was  right  they  should,  found  their  way  into 
print.  The  more  justly  will  the  world  interpret  any 
incidental  admission  he  may  ever  have  made  of  intellectual 
disagreement  between  that  father  and  himself. 

When  the  die  was  cast,  and  young  Browning  was 
definitely  to  adopt  literature  as  his  profession,  he  qualified 
himself  for  it  by  reading  and  digesting  the  whole  of^  John- 
son's Dictionary.  We  cannot  be  surprised  to  hear  this  of 
one  who  displayed "so^gfeat  a  mastery  of  words,  and  so  deep 
a  knowledge  of  the  capacities  of  the  EngUsh  language. 


ROBERT   BROWNING  61 


CHAPTER  V 

1833-1835 

fauZtrie-— Letters  to  Mr.  Fox — Publication  of  the  Poem ;  chief 
Biographical  and  Literary  Characteristics — Mr.  Fox's  Review 
in  the  Monthly  Etpository;  other  Notices — Piussian  Journey 
— Desired  diplomatic  Appointment — Minor  Poems  ;  first 
Sonnet;  their  Mode  of  Appearance — The  Trifler — M.  de 
Ripert-Monclar — Paracelsus — Letters  to  Mr.  Fox  concerning 
it ;  its  Pubhcation — Incidental  Origin  of  Paracelsus ;  its  in- 
spiring Motive ;  its  Eelation  to  Pauline— Mr.  Fox's  Eeview 
of  it  in  the  Monthly  Repository — Article  in  the  Examiner  by 
John  Forster. 

Before  Mr.  Browning  had  half  completed  his  twenty-first 
year  he  had  written  Pjmiine^  Fragment  of  a  Confession. 
His  sister  was  in  the  secret,  butTEis  tiinenEis  "parents  were 
not.  This  is  why  his  aunt,  hearing  that  "  Eobert "  had 
"written  a  poem,"  volunteered  the  sum  requisite  for  its 
publication.  Even  this  first  instalment  of  success  did  not 
inspire  much  hope  in  the  family  mind,  and  Miss  Browning 
made  pencil  copies  of  her  favourite  passages  for  the  event, 
which  seemed  only  too  possible,  of  her  never  seeing  the 
whole  poem  again.  It  was,  however,  accepted  by  Saunders 
and  Otley,  and  appeared  anonymously  in  1833.  Meanwhile 
the  young  author  had  bethought  himself  of  his  early 
sympathizer,  Mr.  Fox,  and  he  wrote  to  him  as  follows  (the 
letter  is  undated)  : 


52  LIFE  AND   LETTERS   OF  [1833 

Dear  Sir, — Perhaps  by  the  aid  of  the  subjoined  initials 
and  a  little  reflection,  you  may  recollect  an  oddish  sort  of 
boy,  who  had  the  honour  of  being  introduced  to  you  at 
Hackuey  some  years  back — at  that  time  a  saycr  of  verse 
and  a  doer  of  it,  and  whose  doings  you  had  a  little  previ- 
ously commended  after  a  fashion — (whether  in  earnest  or 
not  God  knows) :  that  individual  it  is  who  takes  the  liberty 
of  addressing  one  whose  slight  commendation  then,  was 
more  thought  of  than  all  the  gun  drum  and  trumpet  of 
praise  would  be  now,  and  to  submit  to  you  a  free  and  easy 
sort  of  thing  which  he  wrote  some  months  ago  "  on  one 
leg  "  and  which  comes  out  this  week — having  either  heard 
or  dreamed  that  you  contribute  to  the  "  Wesbminster." 

Should  it  be  found  too  insignificant  for  cutting  up,  I 
shall  no  less  remain, 

Dear  sir, 

Your  most  obedient  serv*, 

R.  B. 

I  have  forgotten  the  main  thing — w"''  is  to  beg  you  not 
to  spoil  a  loophole  I  have  kept  for  backing  out  of  the  thing 
if  necessary,  "  sympathy  of  dear  friends,"  &c.  &c.,  none  of 
whom  know  anything  about  it. 

Monday  Morning ;  Eev.  —  Fox. 

The  answer  was  clearly  encouraging,  and  Mr.  Browning 
wrote  again : 

Dear  Sir, — In  consequence  of  your  kind  permission  I 
send,  or  will  send,  a  dozen  copies  of  "  Pauline "  and  (to 
mitigate  the  infliction)  Shelley's  Poem — on  account  of  what 
you  mentioned  this  morning.  It  will  perhaps  be  as  well 
that  you  let  me  know  their  safe  arrival  by  a  line  to  R,  B. 
junior,  Hanover  Cottage,  Southampton  Street,  Camberwell, 


1833J  ROBERT   BROWNING  53 

You  must  not  think  me  too  encroaching,  if  I  make  the 
getting  back  "  Rosalind  and  Helen  "  an  excuse  for  calling 
on  you  some  evening — the  said  "  R.  and  H."  has,  I  observe, 
been  well  thumbed  and  sedulously  marked  by  an  acquaint- 
ance of  mine,  but  I  have  not  time  to  rub  out  his  labour  of 
love. 

I  am,  dear  sir, 

Yours  very  really, 

R.  Brownixq. 

Camberwell :  2  o'clock. 

At  the  left-hand  corner  of  the  first  page  of  this  note  is 
written  :  "  The  parcel — a  '  Pauline  '  parcel — is  come.  I 
Bend  one  as  a  witness." 

On  the  inner  page  is  written  : 

"  Impromptu  on  hearing  a  sermon  by  the  Rev.  T.  R. — 
pronounced  '  heavy ' — 

"  A  heavy  sermon  ! — sure  the  error's  great. 
For  not  a  word  Tom  uttered  had  its  weight^ 

A  third  letter,  also  undated,  but  post-marked  March  29, 
1833,  refers  probably  to  the  promise  or  announcement  of  a 
favourable  notice.  A  fourth  conveys  Mr.  Browning's 
thanks  for  the  notice  itself  : 

My  dear  Sir, — I  have  just  received  your  letter,  which  I 
am  desirous  of  acknowledging  before  any  further  mark  of 
your  kindness  reaches  me  ; — I  can  only  offer  you  my  simple 
thanks — but  they  are  of  the  sort  that  one  can  give  only  once 
or  twice  in  a  life  :  all  things  considered,  I  think  you  are 
almost  repaid,  if  you  imagine  what  I  must  feel — and  it  will 
have  been  worth  while  to  have  made  a  fool  of  myself,  only 
to  have  obtained  a  "  case "  which  leaves  my  line  fellow 
Mandeville  at  a  dead  lock. 


64  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1833 

As  for  the  book — I  hope  ere  long  to  better  it,  and  to 
deserve  your  goodness. 

In  the  meantime  I  shall  not  forget  the  extent  to  which 
I  am,  dear  sir, 

Your  most  obliged  and  obedient  servant, 

R.  B. 

S.  &  O.'s,  Conduit  St.,  Thursday  m-g. 

I  must  intrude  on  your  attention,  my  dear  sir,  once 
more  than  I  had  intended — but  the  notice  like  the  one  I 
have  read  will  have  its  effects  at  all  hazards. 

I  can  only  say  that  I  am  very  proud  to  feel  as  grateful 
as  I  do,  and  not  altogether  hopeless  of  justifying,  by  etfort 
at  least,  your  most  generous  "  coming  forward."  Hazlitt 
wrote  his  essays,  as  he  somewhere  tells  us,  mainly  to  send 
them  to  some  one  in  the  country  who  had  "  always  proplie- 
sied  he  would  be  something "  1 — I  shall  never  write  a  Hue 
without  thinking  of  the  source  of  my  first  praise,  be  assured. 
I  am,  dear  sir, 

Yours  most  truly  and  obliged, 

Robert  BEOWNiNa. 

March  31, 1833. 

Mr.  Fox  was  then  editor  of  a  periodical  called  the 
Monthly  Reposilory,  which,  as  his  daughter,  Mrs.  Bridell- 
Fox,  writes  in  her  graceful  article  on  Robert  Browning,  in 
the  Argosy  for  February,  1890,  he  was  endeavouring  to 
raise  from  its  original  denominational  character  into  a  first- 
class  literary  and  political  journal.  The  articles  comprised 
in  the  volume  for  1833  are  certainly  full  of  interest  and 
variety,  at  once  more  popular  and  more  solid  than  those 
prescribed  by  the  present  fashion  of  monthly  magazines. 
He  reviewed  Pauline  favourably  in  its  April  number — that 
is,  as  soon  as  it  had  appeared ;  and  the  young  poet  thug 


1833]  ROBERT   BROWNING  65 

jeceived  from  him  an  introduction  to  what  should  have 
been,  though  it  probably  was  not,  a  large  circle  of  intelli- 
gent readers. 

The  poem  was  characterized  by  its  author,  five  years 
later,  in  a  fantastic  note  appended  to  a  copy  of  it,  as  "  the 
only  remaining  crab  of  the  shapely  Tree  of  Life  in  my 
Fool's  Paradise."  ^  This  name  is  ill  bestowed  upon  a  work 
which,  however  wild  a  fruit  of  Mr.  Browning's  genius, 
contains,  in  its  many  lines  of  exquisite  fancy  and  deep 
pathos,  so  much  that  is  rich  and  sweet.  It  had  also,  to 
discard  metaphor,  its  faults  of  exaggeration  and  confusion  ; 
and  it  is  of  these  that  Mr.  Browning  was  probably  thinking 
when  he  wrote  his  more  serious  apologetic  preface  to  its 
reprint  in  18G8.  But  these  faults  were  partly  due  to  his 
conception  of  the  character  which  he  had  tried  to  depict ; 
and  partly  to  the  inherent  difficulty  of  depicting  one  so 
complex,  in  a  succession  of  mental  and  moral  states,  irre- 
spectively of  the  conditions  of  time,  place,  and  cu'cumstance  ^1 
which  were  involved  in  them.  Only  a  very  powerful  imagi-  f^\^ 
nation  could  have  inspired  such  an  attempt.  A  still  more 
conspicuous  effort  of  creative  genius  reveals  itself  at  its 
close.  The  moment  chosen  for  the  "  Confession  "  has  beeal 
that  of  a  supreme  moral  or  physical  crisis.  The  exhaustion 
attendant  on  this  is  directly  expressed  by  the  person  who 

•  [Browning's  great  distaste  for  it  is  shown,  not  only  by  the 
apology  which  he  prefixed  to  it  in  1868,  and  the  re%ision  of  it  which 
he  made  in  1888,  but  by  his  extreme  unwillingness  to  show  it  to 
Miss  Barrett  in  1846  (Letters  of  R.  B.  aiid  E.  B.  B.,  i.  402).  He 
mentions  incidentally  that  the  publishers  never  knew  his  name,  and 
that  he  withdrew  the  copies  from  their  hands  "  after  a  very  little 
time."  Very  few  copies  of  the  original  edition  now  exist,  but  a 
reprint  was  issued  in  1883  by  Mr.  T.  J.  Wise.] 


cJ 


66  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1833 

makes  it,  and  may  also  be  recognized  in  the  vivid,  yet  con- 
fusing, intensity  of  the  reminiscences  of  which  it  consists. 
But  we  are  left  in  complete  doubt  as  to  whether  the  crisis  is 
that  of  approaching  death  or  incipient  convalescence,  or 
which  character  it  bears  in  the  sufferer's  mind  ;  and  the 
language  used  in  the  closing  pages  is  such  as  to  suggest, 
without  the  slightest  break  in  poetic  continuity,  alternately 
the  one  conclusion  and  the  other.  This  was  intended  by 
Browning  to  assist  his  anonymity  ;  and  when  the  writer  in 
TuWs  Magazine,  spoke  of  the  poem  as  a  piece  of  pure 
bewilderment,  he  expressed  the  natural  judgement  of  the 
Philistine,  while  proving  himself  such.  If  the  notice  by 
J.  S.  Mill,  which  this  criticism  excluded,  was  indeed — as  Mr. 
Browning  always  believed — much  more  sympathetic,  I  can 
only  record  my  astonishment ;  for  there  never  was  a  large 
and  cultivated  intelligence  one  can  imagine  less  in  harmony 
than  his  with  the  poetic  excesses,  or  even  the  poetic 
qualities,  of  Pauline.     But  this  is  a  digression. 

Mr.  Fox,  though  an  accomplished  critic,  made  very  light 
of  the  artistic  blemishes  of  the  work.  His  admiration  for  it 
was  as  generous  as  it  was  genuine  ;  and,  having  recognized 
in  it  the  hand  of  a  rising  poet,  it  was  more  congenial  to 
him  to  hail  that  poet's  advent  than  to  register  his  short- 
comings. 

*'  The  poem,"  he  says,  "  though  evidently  a  hasty  and 
imperfect  sketch,  has  truth  and  life  in  it,  which  gave  us  the 
thrill,  and  laid  hold  of  us  with  the  power,  the  sensation  of 
which  has  never  yet  failed  us  as  a  test  of  genius." 

But  it  had  also,  in  his  mind,  a  distinguishing  character* 
istic,  which  raised  it  above  the  sphere  of  merely  artistic 
criticism.     The  article  continues : 


1S33]  ROBERT  BROWNING  67 

"  We  have  never  read  anything  more  purely  confessional. 
The  whole  composition  is  of  the  spirit,  spiritual.  The 
scenery  is  in  the  chambers  of  thought  ;  the  agencies  are 
powers  and  passions ;  the  events  are  transitions  from  one 
state  of  spiritual  existence  to  another." 

And  we  learn  from  the  context  that  he  accepted  this 
confessional  and  introspective  quality  as  an  expression  of 
the  highest  emotional  life — of  the  essence,  therefore,  of 
religion.  On  this  point  the  sincerest  admirers  of  the  poem 
may  find  themselves  at  issue  with  Mr.  Fox.  Its  sentiment 
is  warmly  religious ;  it  is  always,  in  a  certain  sense, 
spiritual ;  but  its  intellectual  activities  are  exercised  on 
entirely  temporal  ground,  and  this  fact  would  generally  be 
admitted  as  the  negation  of  spirituality  in  the  religious 
sense  of  the  word.  No  difference,  however,  of  opinion  as  to 
his  judgement  of  FauUne  can  lessen  our  appreciation  of  Mr. 
Fox's  encouraging  kindness  to  its  author.  No  one  who 
loved  Mr.  Browning  in  himself,  or  in  his  work,  can  read  the 
last  lines  of  this  review  without  a  throb  of  affectionate 
gratitude  for  the  sympathy  so  ungrudgingly,  and — as  he 
wrote  during  his  latest  years— so  opportunely  given  : 

"In  recognizing  a  poet  we  cannot  stand  upon  trifles 
nor  fret  ourselves  about  such  matters  [as  a  few  blemishes]. 
Time  enough  for  that  afterwards,  when  larger  works  come 
before  us.  Archimedes  in  the  bath  had  many  particulars 
to  settle  about  specific  gravities  and  Hiero's  crown,  but  he 
first  gave  a  glorious  leap  and  shouted  Eureka !  " 

Many  persons  have  discovered  Mr.  Browning  since  he 
has  been  known  to  fame.  One  only  discovered  him  in  hia 
obscuritj. 


58  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1833 

Next  to  that  of  Mr.  Fox  stands  the  name  of  John 
Forster  among  the  first  spontaneous  appreciators  of  Mr. 
Browning's  genius ;  and  his  admiration  was,  in  its  own 
way,  the  more  valuable  for  the  circumstances  which  pre- 
cluded in  it  all  possible,  even  unconscious,  bias  of  personal 
interest  or  sympathy.  But  this  belongs  to  a  somewhat 
later  period  of  our  history. 

I  am  dwelling  at  some  length  on  this  first  experience 
of  Mr.  Browning's  literary  career,  because  the  confidence 
which  it  gave  him  determined  its  immediate  future,  if  not 
its  ultimate  course — because,  also,  the  poem  itself  is  more 
important  to  the  understanding  of  his  mind  than  perhaps 
any  other  of  his  isolated  works.  It  was  the  earliest  of  his 
dramatic  creations ;  it  was  therefore  inevitably  the  most 
instinct  with  himself ;  and  we  may  regard  the  "  Confession  " 
as  to  a  great  extent  his  own,  without  for  an  instant  ignoriig 
the  imaginative  element  which  necessarily  and  certainly 
entered  into  it.  At  one  moment,  indeed,  his  utterance  is 
so  emphatic  that  we  should  feel  it  to  be  direct,  even  if  we 
did  not  know  it  to  be  true.  The  passage  beginning,  "  I 
am  made  up  of  an  intensest  life,"  conveys  something  more 
than  the  writer's  actual  psychological  state.  The  feverish 
desire  of  life  became  gradually  modified  into  a  more  or  less 
active  intellectual  and  imaginative  curiosity  ;  but  the  sense 
of  an  individual,  self-centred,  and,  as  it  presented  itself  to 
him,  unconditioned  existence,  survived  all  the  teachings  of 
experience,  and  often  indeed  unconsciously  imposed  itself 
upon  them. 

I  have  already  alluded  to  that  other  and  more  pathetic 
fragment  of  distinct  autobiography  which  is  to  be  found  in 
the  invocation  to  the  "  Sun-treader."    Mr.  Fox,  who  quoted 


1833]  ROBERT   JBRO^VNING  59 

great  part  of  it,  justly  declared  that  "the  fervency,  the 
remembrance,  the  half-regret  mingling  with  its  exultation, 
are  as  true  as  its  leading  image  is  beautiful."  The  "  exul- 
tation "  is  in  the  triumph  of  Shelley's  rising  fame ;  the 
regret,  for  the  lost  privilege  of  worshipping  ia  solitary 
tenderness  at  an  obscure  shrine.  The  double  mood  would 
have  been  characteristic  of  any  period  of  Mr.  Browning's  life. 

The  artistic  influence  of  Shelley  is  also  discernible  in 
the  natural  imagery  of  the  poem,  which  reflects  a  fitful  and 
emotional  fancy  instead  of  the  direct  poetic  vision  of  the 
author's  later  work. 

Pauline  received  another  and  graceful  tribute  two 
months  later  than  the  review.  In  an  article  of  the  Monthly 
Repository,  and  in  the  course  of  a  description  of  some 
luxuriant  wood-scenery,  the  following  passage  occurs : 

"Shelley  and  Tennyson  are  the  best  books  for  this 
place.  .  .  .  They  are  natives  of  this  soil ;  literally  so  ;  and 
if  planted  would  grow  as  surely  as  a  crowbar  in  Kentucky 
sprouts  tenpenny  nails.      Prolatwn    est.      Last    autumn 

L dropped  a  poem  of  Shelley's  down  there  ^  in  the 

wood,  amongst  the  thick,  damp,  rotting  leaves,  and  this 
spring  some  one  found  a  delicate  exotic-looking  plant, 
growing  wild  on  the  very  spot,  with  Pauline  hanging  from 
its  slender  stalk.  Unripe  fruit  it  may  be,  but  of  pleasant 
flavour  and  promise,  and  a  mellower  produce,  it  may  be 
hoped,  will  follow." 

This  and  a  bald  though  well-meant  notice  in  the 
Athenmum  exhaust  its  literary  history  for  this  period.^ 

'  Mr.  Browning's  copy  of  Rosalind  and  Helen,  which  he  had  lent 
(o  Miss  Flower,  and  which  she  lost  in  this  wood  on  a  picnic. 

•  Not  qiiite,  it  appears.     Since  I  wrote  the  aboye  words,  Mr. 


60  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1833- 

The  anonymity  of  the  poem  ^as  not  long  preserved ; 
there  was  no  reason  why  it  should  be.  But  Pauline  was, 
from  the  first,  little  known  or  discussed  beyond  the  imme- 
diate circle  of  the  poet's  friends ;  and  when,  twenty  years 
later,  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti  unexpectedly  came  upon  it  in 
the  library  of  the  British  Museum,  he  could  only  surmise 
that  it  had  been  written  by  the  author  of  Paracelsus} 

The  only  recorded  event  of  the  next  two  years  was  Mr. 
Browning's  visit  to  Russia,  which  took  place  in  the  winter 
of  1833-4.  The  Russian  consul-general,  Mr.  Benckhausen, 
had  taken  a  great  liking  to  him,  and  being  sent  to  St. 
Petersburg  on  some  special  mission,  proposed  that  he 
should  accompany  him,  nominally  in  the  character  of 
secretary.  The  letters  written  to  his  sister  during  this,  as 
during  every  other  absence,  were  full  of  graphic  description, 
and  would  have  been  a  mine  of  interest  for  the  student  of 
his  imaginative  life.  They  are,  unfortunately,  all  destroyed, 
and  we  have  only  scattered  reminiscences  of  what  they  had 
to  tell ;  but  we  know  how  strangely  he  was  impressed  by 
some  of  the  circumstances  of  the  journey  :  abov^e  all,  by 
the  endless  monotony  of  snow-covered  pine-forest,  through 
which  he  and  his  companion  rushed  for  days  and  nights  at 
the  speed  of  sis  post-horses,  without  seeming  to  move  from 
one  spot.^     He  enjoyed  the  society  of  St.  Petersburg,  and 

Dykes  Campbell  has  kindly  copied  for  me  the  following  extract  from 
the  Literary  Gazette  of  March  23,  1838  : 

"  Pauline  :  a  Fragment  of  a  Confession,  p.  71.  London,  1833, 
Saunders  and  Otley. 

"  Somewhat  mystical,  somewhat  poetical,  somewhat  sensual,  and 
not  a  little  unintelligible, — this  is  a  dreamy  volume,  without  cm 
object,  and  unfit  for  publication." 

'  [See  below,  ch.  xii.] 

•  [A  slight  poetic  reminiscence  ol  the  Russian  forests  has  latelj 


1834]  ROBERT  BROWNING  61 

was  fortunate  enough,  before  his  return,  to  witness  the 
breaking-up  of  the  ice  on  the  Neva,  and  see  the  Czar  per- 
form the  yearly  ceremony  of  drinking  the  first  glass  of 
water  from  it.     He  was  absent  about  three  months. 

The  one  active  career  which  would  have  recommended 
itself  to  him  in  his  earlier  youth  was  diplomacy  ;  it  was 
that  which  he  subsequently  desired  for  his  son.  He  would 
indeed  not  have  been  averse  to  any  post  of  activity  and 
responsibility  not  unsuited  to  the  training  of  a  gentleman. 
Soon  after  his  return  from  Russia  he  applied  for  appoint- 
ment on  a  mission  which  was  to  be  despatched  to  Persia  ; 
and  the  careless  wording  of  the  answer  which  his  applica- 
tion received  made  him  think  for  a  moment  that  it  had 
been  granted.  He  was  much  disappointed  when  he  learned, 
through  an  interview  with  the  "  chief,"  that  the  place  was 
otherwise  filled. 

In  1834  he  began  a  little  series  of  contributions  to  the 
Monthly  Rejiository,  extending  into  1835-6,  and  consisting 
of  five  poems.  The  earliest  of  these  was  a  sonnet,  not 
contained  in  any  edition  of  Mr.  Browning's  works,  and 
which,  I  believe,  first  reappeared  in  Mr.  Gosse's  article  in 
the  Century  Magazine,  December,  1881 ;  now  part  of  his 

come  to  light  in  the  graceful  lines  written  in  1837  on  the  occasion 
of  the  baptism  of  his  godson,  the  child  of  his  frieud,  William 
Alexander  Dow.  The  lines  (beginning  "  In  far  Esthonian  soli- 
tudes") are  printed  in  Robert  Browning  and  Alfred  Domett,T^.  xi, 
and  the  circumstances  of  their  impromptu  composition  are  described 
at  greater  length  in  Country  Life,  June  10,  1905.  Another  literary- 
result,  but  one  which  has  wholly  disappeared,  is  mentioned  in 
Letters  of  R.  B.  and  E.  B.  B.,  i.  155.  This  was  a  play,  entitled 
"Only  a  Player-girl";  "it  was  Russian,  and  about  a  fair  on  the 
Neva,  and  booths,  and  droshkies,  and  fish-pies,  and  so  forth,  witlj 
khe  palaces  in  the  background."] 


62  LIFE  AND  LETTERS   OF  [1833- 

Personalia.  The  second,  beginning,  "A  king  lived  long 
ago,"  was  to  be  published,  with  alterations  and  additions, 
as  one  of  "  Pippa's "  songs.  Poriihyria's  Lover  and 
Johannes  Agricola  in  Meditation  were  reprinted  together  in 
Bells  and  Fomcgranates  under  the  heading  of  Madhouse 
Cells.  The  fifth  consisted  of  the  lines  beginning,  "  Still 
ailing.  Wind  ?  wilt  be  appeased  or  no  ?  "  afterwards  intro- 
duced into  the  sixth  section  of  James  Lee^s  Wife.  The 
sonnet  is  not  very  striking,  though  hints  of  the  poet's 
future  psychological  subtlety  are  not  wanting  in  it ;  bat 
his  most  essential  dramatic  quality  reveals  itself  in  the  last 
three  poems. 

This  winter  of  1834-5  witnessed  the  birth,  perhaps  also 
the  extinction,  of  an  amateur  periodical,  established  by 
some  of  Mr.  Browning's  friends  ;  foremost  among  these 
the  young  Dowsons,  afterwards  connected  with  Alfred 
Domett.^  The  magazine  was  called  the  Trifler,  and  pub- 
lished in  monthly  numbers  of  about  ten  pages  each.  It 
collapsed  from  lack  of  pocket-money  on  the  part  of  the 
editors ;  but  Mr.  Browning  had  written  for  it  one  letter, 
February,  1833,  signed  with  his  usual  initial  Z,  and 
entitled  "  Some  strictures  on  a  late  article  in  the  Trifler^'' 
This  boyish  production  sparkles  with  fun,  while  affecting 
the  lengthy  quaintnesses  of  some  obsolete  modes  of  speech. 
The  article  which  it  attacks  was  "  A  Dissertation  on  Debt 
and  Debtors,"  where  the  subject  was,  I  imagine,  treated  in 
the  orthodox  way  :  and  he  expends  all  his  paradox  in 
showing  that  indebtedness  is  a    necessary    condition    of 

•  [Christopher  Dowson  married  Domett's  sister.  He  was  a 
member  of  the  innermost  circle  of  Browning's  early  friends,  and  la 
frequently  mentioned  in  his  and  Arnould's  letters  to  Domett.] 


1835]  ROBERT  BROWNING  63 

human  life,  and  all  his  sophistry  in  confusing  it  with  the 
abstract  sense  of  obligation.  It  is,  perhaps,  scarcely  fair  to 
call  attention  to  such  a  mere  argumentative  and  literary 
freak  ;  but  there  is  something  so  comical  in  a  defence  of 
debt,  however  transparent,  proceeding  from  a  man  to  whom 
never  in  his  life  a  bill  can  have  been  sent  in  twice,  and 
who  would  always  have  preferred  ready-money  payment  to 
receiving  a  bill  at  all,  that  I  may  be  forgiven  for  quoting 
some  passages  from  it. 

For  to  be  a  man  is  to  be  a  debtor  : — hinting  but 
slightly  at  the  grand  and  primeval  debt  implied  in  the  idea 
of  a  creation,  as  matter  too  hard  for  ears  like  thine,  (for 
saith  not  Luther,  What  hath  a  cow  to  do  with  nutmegs  ?) 
I  must,  nevertheless,  remind  thee  that  all  moralists  have 
concurred  in  considering  this  our  mortal  sojourn  as  indeed 
an  uninterrupted  state  of  debt,  and  the  world  our  dwelling- 
place  as  represented  by  nothing  so  aptly  as  by  an  inn, 
wherein  those  who  lodge  most  commodiously  have  in  per- 
spective a  proportionate  score  to  reduce,^  and  those  who 
fare  least  delicately,  but  an  insignificant  shot  to  discharge — 
or,  as  the  tuneful  Quarles  well  phraseth  it — 

He's  most  in  debt  who  lingers  out  the  day, 
Who  dies  betimes  has  less  and  less  to  pay. 

So  far,  therefore,  from  these  sagacious  ethics  holding  that 

Debt  cramps  the  energies  of  the  soul,  &c. 

*  Miss  Hickey,  on  reading  this  passage,  has  called  my  attention 
to  the  fact  that  the  sentiment  which  it  parodies  is  identical  with 
Ihat  expressed  in  these  words  of  Prospice, 

...  in  a  minute  pay  glad  life's  arrears 
Of  pain,  darkness,  and  cold. 


64  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1835 

as  thou  pratest,  'tis  plain  that  they  have  willed  on  the  very 
outset  to  inculcate  this  truth  on  the  mind  of  every  man — 
no  barren  and  inconsequential  dogma,  but  an  effectual,  ever 
influencing  and  productive  rule  of  life, — that  he  is  born  a 
debtor,  lives  a  debtor — aye,  friend,  and  when  thou  diest, 
will  not  some  judicious  bystander — no  recreant  as  thou  to 
the  bonds  of  nature,  but  a  good  borrower  and  true — remark, 
as  did  his  grandsire  before  him  on  like  occasions,  that  thou 
hast  "  paid  the  debt  of  nature  "  ?  Ha  !  I  have  thee  "  be- 
yond the  rules,"  as  one  (a  bailiff)  may  say  \ 

Such  performances  supplied  a  distraction  to  the  more 
serious  work  of  writing  Paracelsus,  which  was  to  be  con- 
cluded in  March,  1835,  and  which  occupied  the  foregoing 
winter  months.  We  do  not  know  to  what  extent  Mr. 
Browning  had  remained  in  communication  with  Mr.  Fox  ; 
but  the  following  letters  show  that  the  friend  of  Pauline 
gave  ready  and  efficient  help  in  the  strangely  difficult  task 
of  securing  a  publisher  for  the  new  poem. 

The  first  is  dated  April  2,  1835. 

Dear  Sir, — I  beg  to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  your 
letter  : — Sardanapalus  "  could  not  go  on  multiplying  king- 
doms " — nor  I  protestations — but  I  thank  you  very  much. 

You  will  oblige  me  indeed  by  forwarding  the  introduc- 
tion to  Moxon.  I  merely  suggested  him  in  particular,  on 
account  of  his  good  name  and  fame  among  author-folk, 
besides  he  has  himself  written — as  the  Americans  say — • 
•'  more  poetry  'an  you  can  shake  a  slick  at."  So  I  hope  we 
shall  come  to  terms. 

I  also  hope  my  poem  will  not  turn  out  utterly  unworthy 
your  kind  interest,  and  more  deserving  your  favour  than 
anything  of  mine  you  have  as  yet  seen  ;  indeed  I  all  along 


1835]  ROBERT  BROWNING  65 

proposed  to  myself  such  an  endeavour,  for  it  will  never  do 
for  one  so  distinguished  by  past  praise  to  prove  nobody 
after  all — )ious  verrons. 

I  am,  dear  sir, 

Yours  most  truly  and  obliged 

RoBT.  BROWNma. 

On  April  16  he  wrote  again  as  follows  : 

Dear  Sir, 

Your  communication  gladdened  the  cockles  of  my 
heart.  I  lost  no  time  in  presenting  myself  to  Moxon,  but 
no  sooner  was  Mr.  Clarke's  letter  perused  than  the  Mosonian 
visage  loured  exceedingly  thereat — the  Moxonian  accent 
grew  dolorous  thereupon  : — "  Artevelde "  has  not  paid 
expenses  by  about  thirty  odd  pounds.  Tennyson's  poetry 
is  "popular  at  Cambridge,'"'  and  yet  of  800  copies  which  were 
printed  of  his  last,  some  300  only  have  gone  off :  Mr.  M. 
hardly  knows  whether  he  shall  ever  venture  again,  &c.  &c., 
and  in  short  begs  to  decline  even  inspecting,  &c.  &c. 

I  called  on  Saunders  and  Otley  at  once,  and,  marvel  of 
marvels,  do  really  think  there  is  some  chance  of  our  coming 
to  decent  terras — I  shall  know  at  the  beginning  of  next 
week,  but  am  not  over-sanguine. 

You  will  "  sarve  me  out "  ?  two  words  to  that ;  being 
the  man  you  are,  you  must  need  very  little  telling  from  me, 
of  the  real  feeling  I  have  of  your  criticism's  worth,  and  if 
I  have  had  no  more  of  it,  surely  I  am  hardly  to  blame,  who 
have  in  more  than  one  instance  bored  you  sufficiently  :  but 
not  a  particle  of  your  article  has  been  rejected  or  neglected 
by  your  observant  humble  servant,  and  very  proud  shall  I 
be  if  my  new  work  bear  in  it  the  marks  of  the  influence 
under  which  it  was  undertaken — and  if  I  prove  not  a  fit 
eompeer  of  the  potter  in  Horace  who  anticipated  an  amphora 


66  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1835 

and  produced  a  porridge-pot.  I  purposely  keep  back  the 
subject  until  you  see  my  conception  of  its  capabilities — 
otherwise  you  would  be  planning  a  vase  fit  to  give  the 
go-by  to  Evander's  best  crockery,  which  my  cantharus  would 
cut  but  a  sorry  figure  beside — hardly  up  to  the  ansa. 

Bat  such  as  it  is,  it  is  very  earnest  and  suggestive — and 
likely  I  hope  to  do  good  ;  and  though  I  am  rather  scared  at 
the  thought  of  a  fresh  eye  going  over  its  4,000  lines — dis- 
covering blemishes  of  all  sorts  which  my  one  wit  cannot 
avail  to  detect,  fools  treated  as  sages,  obscure  passages, 
slipshod  verses,  and  much  that  worse  is, — yet  on  the  whole 
I  am  not  much  afraid  of  the  issue,  and  I  would  give  some- 
thing to  be  allowed  to  read  it  some  morning  to  you — for 
every  rap  o'  the  knuckles  I  should  get  a  clap  o'  the  back, 
I  know. 

I  have  another  affair  on  hand,  rather  of  a  more  popular 
nature,  I  conceive,  but  not  so  decisive  and  explicit  on  a 
point  or  two — so  I  decide  on  trying  the  question  with 
tbis  : — I  really  shall  need  your  notice,  on  this  account  ;  I 
shall  affix  my  name  and  stick  my  arms  akimbo  ;  there  are 
a  few  precious  bold  bits  here  and  there,  and  the  drift  and 
scope  are  awfully  radical — I  am  "  off "  for  ever  with  the 
other  side,  but  must  by  all  means  be  "  on  "  with  yours — a 
position  once  gained,  worthier  works  shall  follow — therefore 
a  certain  writer^  who  meditated  a  notice  (it  matters  not 
laudatory  or  otherwise)  on  "  Pauline  "  in  the  "  Examiner," 
must  be  benignant  or  supercilious  as  he  shall  choose,  but  in 
no  case  an  idle  spectator  of  my  first  appearance  on  any 
stage  (having  previously  only  dabbled  in  private  theatricals) 
and  bawl  "  Hats  off  !  "  "  Down  in  front !  "  &c.,  as  soon  as  I 
get  to  the  proscenium ;  and  he  may  depend  that  tho'  my 
"  Now  is  the  winter  of  our  discontent  "  be  rather  awkward, 

>  Mr.  John  Stuart  Mill. 


1835]  ROBERT   BROWNING  &i 

yet  there  shall  be  occasional  outbreaks  of  good  stuff — that 
I  shall  warm  as  I  get  on,  and  finally  wish  "  Richmond  at 
the  bottom  of  the  seas,"  &c.  in  the  best  style  imaginable. 
Excuse  all  this  swagger,  I  know  you  will,  and 

(The  signature  has  been  cut  off  ;  evidently  for  an 
autograph.) 

Mr.  Effingham  Wilson  was  induced  to  publish  the  poem, 
but  more,  we  understand,  on  the  ground  of  radical  sympa- 
thies in  Mr.  Fox  and  the  author  than  on  that  of  its  intrinsic 
worth. 

The  title-page  of  Paracelsus  introduces  us  to  one  of  the 
warmest  friendships  of  Mr.  Browning's  life.  Count  de 
Ripert-Monclar  was  a  young  French  Royalist,  one  of  those 
who  had  accompanied  the  Duchesse  de  Berri  on  her  Chouan 
expedition,  and  was  then,  for  a  few  years,  spending  his 
summers  in  England  ;  ostensibly  for  his  pleasure,  really — as 
he  confessed  to  the  Browning  family — in  the  character  of 
private  agent  of  communication  between  the  royal  exiles 
and  their  friends  in  France.  He  was  four  years  older  than 
the  poet,  and  of  intellectual  tastes  which  created  an  im- 
mediate bond  of  union  between  them.  In  the  course  of 
one  of  their  conversations,  he  suggested  the  life  of  Paracelsus 
as  a  possible  subject  for  a  poem  ;  but  on  second  thoughts 
pronounced  it  unsuitable,  because  it  gave  no  room  for  the 
introduction  of  love  :  about  which,  he  added,  every  young 
man  of  their  age  thought  he  had  something  quite  new  to 
say.  Mr.  Browning  decided,  after  the  necessary  study,  that 
he  would  write  a  poem  on  Paracelsus,  but  treating  him  in 
his  own  way.  It  was  dedicated,  in  fulfilment  of  a  promise, 
to  the  friend  to  whom  its  inspiration  had  been  due. 

The  Count's  visits  to  England  entirely  ceased,  and  the 


68  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1835 

two  friends  did  not  meet  for  twenty  years.  Then,  one 
day,  in  a  street  in  Rome,  Mr.  Browning  heard  a  voice 
behind  him  crying,  "  Robert  I  "  He  turned,  and  there  was 
"  Amedee."  Both  were,  by  that  time,  married  ;  the  Count 
— then,  I  believe,  Marquis — to  an  English  lady.  Miss 
Jemingham.  Mrs.  Browning,  to  whom  of  course  he  was 
introduced,  liked  him  very  much.^ 

Mr.  Browning  did  treat  Paracelsus  in  his  own  way  ;  and 
in  so  doing  produced  a  character — at  all  events  a  history — 
which,  according  to  recent  judgements,  approached  far  nearer 
to  the  reality  than  any  conception  which  had  until  then 
been  formed  of  it.  He  had  carefully  collected  all  the  known 
facts  of  the  great  discoverer's  life,  and  interpreted  them  with 
a  sympathy  which  was  no  less  an  intuition  of  their  truth 
than  a  reflection  of  his  own  genius  upon  them.  We  are 
enabled  in  some  measure  to  judge  of  this  by  a  paper  entitled 
"  Paracelsus,  the  Reformer  of  Medicine,"  written  by  Dr. 
Edward  Berdoe  for  the  Browning  Society,  and  read  at  its 
October  meeting  in  1888  ;  and  in  the  difficulty  which  exists 
for  most  of  us  of  verifying  the  historical  data  of  Mr. 
Browning's  poem,  it  becomes  a  valuable  guide  to  as  well  as 
an  interesting  comment  upon  it. 

Dr.  Berdoe  reminds  us  that  we  cannot  understand  the 
real  Paracelsus  without  reference  to  the  occult  sciences  so 
largely  cultivated  in  his  day,  as  also  to  the  mental  atmo- 
sphere which  produced  them  ;  and  he  quotes  in  illustration 
a  passage  from  the  writings  of  that  Bishop  of  Spanheim 

^  A  minor  result  of  the  intimacy  was  that  Mr.  Browning  became 
member,  in  1835,  of  the  Institut  Historique,  and  in  1836  of  the 
Soci(ite  Fran9aise  de  Statistique  Universelle,  to  both  of  whicJr 
leagued  bodies  his  friend  belonged. 


1835]  ROBERT  BROWNING  69 

who  was  the  instructor  of  Paracelsus,  and  who  appears  as 
Buch  in  the  poem.  The  passage  is  a  definition  of  divine 
magic,  which  is  apparently  another  term  for  alchemy  ;  and 
lays  down  the  great  doctrine  of  all  mediaeval  occultism,  as 
of  all  modern  theosophy — of  a  soul-power  equally  operative 
in  the  material  and  the  immaterial,  in  nature  and  in  the 
consciousness  of  man. 

The  same  clue  will  guide  u?,  as  no  other  can,  through 
what  is  apparently  conflicting  in  the  aims  and  methods, 
anomalous  in  the  moral  experience,  of  the  Paracelsus  of 
the  poem.  His  feverish  pursuit,  among  the  things  of 
Nature,  of  an  ultimate  of  knowledge,  not  contained,  even 
in  fragments,  in  her  isolated  truths  ;  the  sense  of  failure 
which  haunts  his  most  valuable  attainments  ;  his  tampering 
with  the  lower  or  diabolic  magic,  when  the  divine  has 
failed ;  the  ascetic  exaltation  in  which  he  begins  his 
career ;  the  sudden  awakening  to  the  spiritual  sterility 
which  has  been  consequent  on  it ; — all  these  find  their 
place,  if  not  always  their  counterpart,  in  the  real  life. 

The  language  of  Mr.  Browning's  Paracelsus,  his  atti- 
tude towards  himself  and  the  world,  are  not,  however, 
quite  consonant  with  the  alleged  facts.  They  are  more 
appropriate  to  an  ardent  explorer  of  the  world  of  abstract 
thought  than  to  a  mystical  scientist  pursuing  the  secret  of 
existence.  He  preserves,  in  all  his  mental  vicissitudes,  a 
loftiness  of  tone  and  a  unity  of  intention,  diflScult  to  con- 
nect, even  in  fancy,  with  the  real  man,  in  whom  the 
mherited  superstitions  and  the  prognostics  of  true  science 
must  often  have  clashed  with  each  other.  Dr.  Berdoe's 
picture  of  the  "  Eef ormer,"  drawn  more  directly  from 
history,  conveys  this  double  impression.     Mr.  Browning 


70  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1835 

has  rendered  him  more  simple  by,  as  it  were,  recasting  him 
in  the  atmosphere  of  a  more  modern  time,  and  of  his  own 
intellectual  life.  This  poem  still,  therefore,  belongs  tc  the 
same  group  as  Pauline,  though,  as  an  effort  of  dramatic 
creation,  superior  to  it. 

We  find  the  Poet  with  still  less  of  dramatic  disguise  in 
the  deathbed  revelation,  which  forms  so  beautiful  a  close 
to  the  story.  It  supplies  a  fitter  comment  to  the  errors 
of  the  dramatic  Paracelsus  than  to  those  of  the  historical, 
whether  or  not  its  utterance  was  within  the  compass  of 
historical  probability,  as  Dr.  Berdoe  believes.  In  any 
case  it  was  the  direct  product  of  Mr.  Browning's  mind, 
and  expressed  what  was  to  be  his  permanent  conviction. 
It  might  then  have  been  an  echo  of  German  pantheistic 
philosophies.  From  the  point  of  view  of  science — of 
modern  science  at  least — it  was  prophetic  ;  although  the 
prophecy  of  one  for  whom  evolution  could  never  mean 
less  or  more  than  a  divine  creation  operating  on  this 
progressive  plan. 

The  more  striking,  perhaps,  for  its  personal  quality  are 
the  evidences  of  imaginative  sympathy,  even  direct  human 
insight,  in  which  the  poem  abounds.  Festus  is,  indeed, 
an  essentially  human  creature  :  the  man — it  might  have 
been  the  woman — of  unambitious  intellect  and  large  in- 
telligence of  the  heart,  in  whom  so  many  among  us  have 
found  comfort  and  help.  We  often  feel,  in  reading 
Pauline,  that  the  poet  in  it  was  older  than  the  man.  The 
impression  is  more  strongly  and  more  definitely  conveyed 
by  this  second  work,  which  has  none  of  the  intellectual 
trudeness  of  Pauline,  though  it  still  belongs  to  an  early 
phase  of  the  author's  intellectual  life.    Not  only  its  mental, 


1835]  ROBERT  BROWNING  71 

but  its  moral  maturity,  seems  so  much  in  advance  of  hia 
uncompleted  twenty-third  year. 

To  the  first  edition  of  Paracelsus  (published  in  1835) 
was  affixed  a  preface,  now  long  discarded,  but  which 
acquires  fresh  interest  in  a  retrospect  of  the  author's  com- 
pleted work ;  for  it  lays  down  the  constant  principle  of 
dramatic  creation  by  which  that  work  was  to  be  inspired. 
It  also  anticipates  probable  criticism  of  the  artistic  form 
which  on  this,  and  so  many  subsequent  occasions,  he  selected 
for  it. 

"  I  am  anxious  that  the  reader  should  not,  at  the  very 
outset — mistaking  my  performance  for  one  of  a  class  with 
which  it  has  nothing  in  common — judge  it  by  principles  on 
which  it  was  never  moulded,  and  subject  it  to  a  standard 
to  which  it  was  never  meant  to  conform.  I  therefore 
anticipate  his  discovery,  that  it  is  an  attempt,  probably 
more  novel  than  happy,  to  reverse  the  method  usually 
adopted  by  writers  whose  aim  it  is  to  set  forth  any  phe- 
nomenon of  the  mind  or  the  passions,  by  the  operation  of 
persons  and  events ;  and  that,  instead  of  having  recourse  to 
an  external  machinery  of  incidents  to  create  and  evolve  the 
crisis  I  desire  to  produce,  I  have  ventured  to  display  some- 
what minutely  the  mood  itself  in  its  rise  and  progress,  and 
have  suffered  the  agency  by  which  it  is  influenced  and 
determined,  to  be  generally  discernible  in  its  effects  alone, 
and  subordinate  throughout,  if  not  altogether  excluded : 
and  this  for  a  reason.  I  have  endeavoured  to  write  a 
poem,  not  a  drama  :  the  canons  of  the  drama  are  well 
known,  and  I  cannot  but  think  that,  inasmuch  as  they 
have  immediate  regard  to  stage  representation,  the  peculiar 
advantages  they  hold  out  are  really  such  only  so  long  aa 
the  purpose  for  which  they  were  at  first  instituted  is  kept 


72  LIFE  AND  LETTERS   OF  [18M 

in  view.  I  do  not  very  well  understand  what  is  called  a 
Dramatic  Poem,  wherein  all  those  restrictions  only  sub- 
mitted to  on  account  of  compensating  good  in  the  original 
scheme  are  scrupulously  retained,  as  though  for  some 
special  fitness  in  themselves — and  all  new  facilities  placed 
at  an  author's  disposal  by  the  vehicle  he  selects,  as  perti- 
naciously rejected.  ..." 

Mr.  Fox  reviewed  this  also  in  the  Monthly  Repository. 
The  article  might  be  obtained  through  the  kindness  of 
Mrs.  Bridell-Fox  ;  but  it  will  be  sufficient  for  my  purpose 
to  refer  to  its  closing  paragraph,  as  given  by  her  in  the 
Argosy  of  February,  1890.  It  was  a  final  expression  of 
what  the  writer  regarded  as  the  fitting  intellectual  attitude 
towards  a  rising  poet,  whose  aims  and  methods  lay  so  far 
beyond  the  range  of  the  conventional  rules  of  poetry.  The 
great  event  in  the  history  of  Paracelsus  was  John  Forster's 
article  on  it  in  the  Examiner,  Mr.  Forster  had  recently 
come  to  town.  He  could  barely  have  heard  Mr.  Browning's 
name,  and,  as  he  afterwards  told  him,  was  perplexed  in 
reading  the  poem  by  the  question  of  whether  its  author  was 
an  old  or  a  young  man  ;  but  he  knew  that  a  writer  in  the 
Athemeum  had  called  it  rubbish,  and  he  had  taken  it  up  aa 
a  probable  subject  for  a  piece  of  slashing  criticism.  What 
he  did  write  can  scarcely  be  defined  as  praise.  It  was  the 
simple,  ungrudging  admission  of  the  unequivocal  power,  as 
well  as  brilliant  promise,  which  he  recognized  in  the  work. 
This  mutual  experience  was  the  introduction  to  a  long  and, 
certainly  on  Mr.  Browning's  part,  a  sincere  friendship. 


ROBERT   BROWNING  73 


CHAPTER  VI 
1835-1838 

Removal  to  natcham ;  some  Particulars — Renewed  Intercourse 
with  the  second  Family  of  Robert  Browning's  Grandfather — 
Reuben  Browning — William  Sliergold  Browning — Visitors  at 
Eatcham — Thomas  Carlyle — Social  Life — New  Friends  and 
Acquaintances — Introduction  to  Macready — New  Year's  Eve 
at  Elm  Place — Introduction  to  John  Forster — Miss  Fanny 
Haworth  —  Miss  Martineau  — Serjeant  Talfourd — The  Ion 
Supper — Strafford — Relations  with  Macready — Performance 
of  Strafford — Letters  concerning  it  from  Mr.  Browning  and 
Miss  Flower — Personal  Glimpses  of  Robert  Browning — Rival 
Forms  of  Dramatic  Inspiration — Relation  of  Strafford  to 
Sordello — Mr.  Robertson  and  the  Westminster  Review, 

It  was  soon  after  this  time,  though  the  exact  date  cannot 
be  recalled,  that  the  Browning  family  removed  from 
Camberwell  to  Hatcham.  Some  such  change  had  long  been 
in  contemplation,  for  their  house  was  now  too  small ;  and 
the  finding  one  more  suitable,  in  the  latter  place,  had 
decided  the  question.  The  new  home  possessed  great 
attractions.  The  long,  low  rooms  of  its  upper  storey  sup- 
phed  abundant  accommodation  for  the  elder  Mr.  Brown- 
ing's six  thousand  books.  Mrs.  Browning  was  suffering 
greatly  from  her  chronic  ailment,  neuralgia  ;  and  the  large 
garden,  opening  on  to  the  Surrey  hills,  promised  her  all  the 
benetita  of  country  air.     There   was  a  coach-house    and 


74  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1835 

stable,  which,  by  a  curious,  probably  old-fashioned,  arrange- 
ment, formed  part  of  the  house,  and  were  accessible  from 
it.  Here  the  "  good  horse,"  York,  was  eventually  put  up  ; 
and  near  this,  in  the  garden,  the  poet  soon  had  another 
though  humbler  friend  in  the  person  of  a  toad,  which 
became  so  much  attached  to  him  that  it  would  follow 
him  as  he  walked.  He  visited  it  daily,  where  it  burrowed 
under  a  white  rose  tree,  announcing  himself  by  a  pinch 
of  gravel  dropped  into  its  hole ;  and  the  creature  would 
crawl  forth,  allow  its  head  to  be  gently  tickled,  and  re- 
ward the  act  with  that  loving  glance  of  the  soft  full  eyes 
which  Mr.  Browning  has  recalled  in  one  of  the  poems  of 
Asolcmdo. 

This  change  of  residence  brought  the  grandfather's 
second  family,  for  the  first  time,  into  close  as  well  as 
friendly  contact  with  the  first.  Mr.  Browning  had  always 
remained  on  outwardly  friendly  terms  with  his  stepmother  ; 
and  both  he  and  his  children  were  rewarded  for  this  for- 
bearance by  the  cordial  relations  which  grew  up  between 
themselves  and  two  of  her  sons.  But  in  the  earlier  days 
they  lived  too  far  apart  for  frequent  meeting.  The  old  Mrs. 
Browning  was  now  a  widow,  and,  in  order  to  be  near  her 
relations,  she  also  came  to  Hatcham,  and  estabhshed  herself 
there  in  close  neighbourhood  to  them.  She  had  then  with 
her  only  a  son  and  a  daughter,  those  known  to  the  poet's 
friends  as  Uncle  Eeuben  and  Aunt  Jemima  ;  respectively 
nine  years,  and  one  year,  older  than  he.  "  Aunt  Jemima  " 
married  not  long  afterwards,  and  is  chiefly  remembered  as 
having  been  very  amiable,  and,  in  early  youth,  to  use  her 
nephew's  words,  "  as  beautiful  as  the  day  "  ;  but  kindly, 
merry   *'  Uncle   Reuben,"  then  clerk  in  the  Kothschilds* 


1835]  ROBERT  BROWNING  76 

London  bank,^  became  a  conspicuous  member  of  the  family 
circle.  This  does  not  mean  that  the  poet  was  ever  indebted 
to  him  for  pecuniary  help ;  and  it  is  desirable  that  this 
should  be  understood,  since  it  has  been  confidently  asserted 
that  he  was  so.  So  long  as  he  was  dependent  at  all,  he 
d''pended  exclusively  on  his  father.  Even  the  use  of  his 
uncle's  horse,  which  might  have  been  accepted  as  a  friendly 
concession  on  Mr.  Reuben's  part,  did  not  really  represent 
one.  The  animal  stood,  as  I  have  said,  in  Mr.  Browning's 
stable,  and  it  was  groomed  by  his  gardener.  The  promise 
of  these  conveniences  had  induced  Reuben  Browning  to  buy 
a  horse  instead  of  continuing  to  hire  one.  He  could  only 
ride  it  on  a  few  days  of  the  week,  and  it  was  rather  a  gain 
than  a  loss  to  him  that  so  good  a  horseman  as  his  nephew 
should  exercise  it  during  the  interval. 

Uncle  Reuben  was  not  a  great  appreciator  of  poetry — at 
all  events  of  his  nephew's  ;  and  an  irreverent  remark  on 
SordoIIo,  imputed  to  a  more  eminent  contemporary,  pro- 
ceeded, under  cover  of  a  friend's  name,  from  him.  But  he 
had  his  share  of  mental  endowments.  We  are  told  that  he 
was  a  good  linguist,  and  that  he  wrote  on  finance  under  an 
assumed  name.  He  was  also,  apparently,  an  accomplished 
classic.  Lord  Beaconsfield  is  said  to  have  declared  that  the 
inscription  on  a  silver  inkstand,  presented  to  the  daughter 
of  Lionel  Rothschild  on  her  marriage,  by  the  clerks  at  New 
Court,  "  was  the  most  appropriate  thing  he  had  ever  come 
across  "  ;  and  that  whoever  had  selected  it  must  be  one  of  the 
first  Latin  scholars  of  the  day.   It  was  Mr.  Reuben  Browning. 

*  This  uncle's  name,  and  his  business  relations  with  the  great 
Jewish  firm,  have  contributed  to  the  mistaken  theory  of  the  poet'g 
descent. 


76  LIFE   AND   LEITERS   OF  [iS35- 

Another  favourite  uncle  was  "William  Shergold  Brown- 
ing, though  less  iutimabe  with  his  nephew  and  niece  than 
he  would  have  become  if  he  had  not  married  while  they 
were  still  children,  and  settled  in  Paris,  where  his  father's 
interest  had  placed  him  in  the  Rothschild  house.  He  is 
known  by  his  History  of  the  Huguenots^  a  work,  we  are 
told,  "full  of  research,  with  a  reference  to  contemporary 
literature  for  almost  every  occurrence  mentioned  or  referred 
to."  He  also  wrote  the  Provost  of  Paris,  and  Hoel  Morvan, 
historical  novels,  and  Leisure  Hours,  a  collection  of  mis- 
cellanies ;  and  was  a  contributor  for  some  years  to  the 
Gentleman's  llafjazine.  It  was  chiefly  from  this  uncle  that 
Miss  Browning  and  her  brother  heard  the  now  often- 
repeated  stories  of  their  probable  ancestors,  Micaiah  Brown- 
ing, who  distinguished  himself  at  the  relief  of  Derry,  and 
that  commander  of  the  ship  "  Holy  G-host "  who  conveyed 
Henry  Y.  to  France  before  the  battle  of  Agincourt,  and 
received  the  coat-of-arms,  with  its  emblematic  waves,  in 
reward  for  his  service.  Robert  Browning  was  also  in- 
debted to  him  for  the  acquaintance  of  M.  de  Ripert- 
Monclar ;  for  he  was  on  friendly  terms  with  the  uncle  of 
the  young  count,  the  Marquis  de  Fortia,  a  learned  man 
and  member  of  the  Institut,  and  gave  a  letter  of  intro- 
duction— actually,  I  believe,  to  his  brother  Reuben — at  the 
Marquis's  request.^ 

'  A  grandson  of  William  Shergold,  Robert  Jardine  Browning, 
graduated  at  Lincoln  College,  was  called  to  the  Bar,  and  becama 
Crown  Prosecutor  in  New  South  Wales  ;  where  his  name  first  gave 
rise  to  a  report  that  he  was  Mr.  Browning's  son,  while  the  announce- 
ment of  his  marriage  was,  for  a  moment,  connected  with  Mr. 
Browning  himself.  He  was  also  intimate  with  the  poet  and  hii 
Bister,  who  liked  him  very  much. 


1838]  ROBERT   BROWNING  77 

The  friendly  relations  with  Carlyle,  which  resulted  in 
the  latter's  high  estimate  of  the  poet's  mother,  also  began  at 
Hatcham.  On  one  occasion  he  took  his  brother,  the 
doctor,  with  him  to  dine  there.^  An  earlier  and  much 
attached  friend  of  the  famOy  was  Captain  Pritchard,  cousin 
to  the  noted  physician  Dr.  Blundell.  He  enabled  the 
young  Robert,  whom  he  knew  from  the  age  of  sixteen, 
to  attend  some  of  Dr.  Blundell's  lectures  ;  and  this  aroused 
in  him  a  considerable  interest  in  the  sciences  connected 
with  medicine,  though,  as  I  shall  have  occasion  to  show, 
no  knowledge  of  either  disease  or  its  treatment  ever  seems 
to  have  penetrated  into  his  life.  A  Captain  Lloyd  is  in- 
directly associated  with  The  Flight  of  the  Duchess.  That 
poem  was  not  completed  according  to  its  original  plan ;  ^ 
and  it  was  the  always  welcome  occurrence  of  a  visit  from 
this  gentleman  which  arrested  its  completion.  Mr.  Brown- 
ing vividly  remembered  how  the  click  of  the  garden  gate, 
and  the  sight  of  the  familiar  figure  advancing  towards  the 
house,  had  broken  in  upon  his  work  and  dispelled  its  first 
inspiration. 

The  appearance  of  Paracelsus  did  not  give  the  young 
poet  his  just  place  in  popular  judgement  and  public  esteem. 
A  generation  was  to  pass  before  this  was  conceded  to  him. 
But  it  compelled  his  recognition  by  the  leading  or  rising 
literary  men  of  the  day  ;  and  a  fuller  and  more  varied 
social  hfe  now  opened  before  him.     The  names  of  Serjeant 

*  [Ample  evidence  of  Browning's  afiectionate  and  admiring  inter- 
course with  Carlyle  is  given  in  his  letters  to  Domett  and  Miss 
Barrett.     The  visit  here  mentioned  was  in  April,  1843.} 

*  [Browning's  own  accoimt  of  the  original  conception  of  the  poem 
is  given  in  one  of  his  letters  to  Miss  Barrett  [Letters  of  B.  B.  and 
E  B.  B.,  i.  139).] 


78  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1835- 

Talfourd,  Home,  Leigh  Hunt,  Barry  Cornwall  (Procter), 
Monckton  Milnes  (Lord  Houghton),  Eliot  Warburton, 
Dickens,  Wordsworth,  and  Walter  Savage  Landor,  repre- 
sent, with  that  of  Forster,  some  of  the  acquaintances  made, 
or  the  friendships  begun,  at  this  period.  Prominent  among 
the  friends  that  were  to  be  was  also  Archer  Gurney,  well 
known  in  later  life  as  the  Rev.  Archer  Gurney,  and  chap- 
lain to  the  British  embassy  in  Paris.  His  sympathies  were 
at  present  largely  absorbed  by  politics.  He  was  contesting 
the  representation  of  some  county,  on  the  Conservative 
side,  but  he  took  a  very  vivid  interest  in  Mr.  Browning's 
poems ;  and  this  perhaps  fixes  the  beginning  of  the  inti- 
macy at  a  somewhat  later  date,  since  a  pretty  story  by 
which  it  was  illustrated  connects  itself  with  the  publication 
of  Bells  and  Pomegranates.  He  himself  wrote  dramas  and 
poems.  Sir  John,  afterwards  Lord,  Hanmer  was  also 
much  attracted  by  the  young  poet,  who  spent  a  pleasant 
week  with  him  at  Bettisfield  Park.^  He  was  the  author  of 
a  volume  entitled  Fra  Cipollo  and  other  Poems,  from  which 
the  motto  of  Colombe's  Birthday  was  subsequently  taken. 

The  friends,  old  and  new,  met  in  the  informal  manner 
of  those  days,  at  afternoon  dinners,  or  later  suppers,  at  the 
houses  of  Mr.  Fox,  Serjeant  Talfourd,  and,  as  we  shall  see, 
Mr.  Macready ;  and  Mr.  Fox's  daughter,  then  only  a  little 
girl,  but  intelligent  and  observant  for  her  years,  well 
remembers  the  pleasant  gatherings  at  which  she  was  allowed 
to  assist,  when  first  performances  of  plays,  or  first  readings 
of  plays  and  poems,  had  brought  some  of  the  younger  and 
more  ardent  spirits  together.     Miss  Flower,  also,  takes  her 

»  [In  September,  1842 ;  see  Bobert  Browning  and  Alfred  Domettf 
p.  44.] 


1838]  ROBERT  BROWNING  79 

place  in  the  literary  group.  Her  sister  liad  married  in 
1834,  and  left  her  free  to  live  for  her  own  pursuits  and 
her  own  friends  ;  and  Mr.  Browning  must  have  seen  more 
of  her  then  than  was  possible  in  his  boyish  days. 

None,  however,  of  these  intimacies  were,  at  the  time, 
so  important  to  him  as  that  formed  with  the  great  actor 
Macready.  They  were  introduced  to  each  other  by  Mr. 
Fox  early  in  the  winter  of  1835-6  ;  the  meeting  is  thus 
chronicled  in  Macready 's  diary,  November  27.^ 

"  Went  from  chambers  to  dine  with  Rev.  William  Fox, 
Bayswater.  .  .  .  Mr.  Robert  Browning,  the  author  of 
Paracelsus,  came  in  after  dinner  ;  I  was  very  much  pleased 
to  meet  him.  His  face  is  full  of  intelligence.  ...  I  took 
Mr.  Browning  on,  and  requested  to  be  allowed  to  improve 
my  acquaintance  with  him.  He  expressed  himself  warmly, 
as  gratified  by  the  proposal,  wished  to  send  me  his  book  ;  we 
exchanged  cards  and  parted." 

On  December  7  he  writes : 

"  Read  Paracelsus,  a  work  of  great  daring,  starred  with 
poetry  of  thought,  feeling,  and  diction,  but  occasionally 
obscure ;  the  writer  can  scarcely  fail  to  be  a  leading  spirit 
of  his  time.  .  .  ." 

He  invited  Mr.  Browning  to  his  country  house.  Elm 
Place,  Elstree,  for  the  last  evening  of  the  year  ;  and  again 
refers  to  him  under  date  of  December  31. 

*' .  .  .  Our  other  guests  were  Miss  Henney,  Forster, 
Cattermole,  Browning,  and  Mr.  Munro.  Mr.  Browning 
was  very  popular  with  the  whole  party ;   his  simple  and 

I  Macready's  Eeminiscences,  edited  by  Sir  Frederick  Pollock. 
1875. 


80  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [183S 

enthusiastic  manner  engaged  attention,  and  won  opinions 
from  all  present ;  he  looks  and  speaks  more  like  a  youthful 
poet  than  any  man  I  ever  saw." 

This  New-Year's-Eve  visit  brought  Browning  and 
Forster  together  for  the  first  time.  The  journey  to  Elstree 
was  then  performed  by  coach,  and  the  two  young  men  met 
at  the  "Blue  Posts,"  where,  with  one  or  more  of  Mr. 
]\Iacready's  other  guests,  they  waited  for  the  coach  to  start. 
They  eyed  each  other  with  interest,  both  being  striking  in 
their  way,  and  neither  knowing  who  the  other  was.  When 
the  introduction  took  place  at  Macready's  house,  Mr. 
Forster  supplemented  it  by  saying :  "  Did  you  see  a  little 
notice  of  you  I  wrote  in  the  Examiner  ?  "  The  two  names 
will  now  be  constantly  associated  in  Macready's  diary, 
which,  except  for  Mr.  Browning's  own  casual  utterances,  is 
almost  our  only  record  of  his  literary  and  social  life  during 
the  next  two  years. 

It  was  at  Elm  Place  that  Mr.  Browning  first  met  Miss 
Euphrasia  Fanny  Haworth,  then  a  neighbour  of  Mr.  Mac- 
ready,  residing  with  her  mother  at  Barham  Lodge.  Miss 
Haworth  was  still  a  young  woman,  but  her  love  and  talent 
for  art  and  literature  made  her  a  fitting  member  of  the 
genial  circle  to  which  Mr.  Browning  belonged  ;  and  she  and 
the  poet  soon  became  fast  friends.  Her  first  name  appears 
as  "  Eyebright "  in  Sordello.  His  letters  to  her,  returned 
after  her  death  by  her  brother,  Mr.  f^rederick  Haworth, 
supply  valuable  records  of  his  experiences  and  of  his 
feelings  at  one  very  interesting,  and  one  deeply  sorrowful, 
period  of  his  history.^    She  was  a  thoroughly  kindly,  as 

1  [Miss  Haworth  also  became  a  warm  friend  and  correspondent 
of  ilrs.  Browning ;  see  Letters  of  E.  B.  Browmng,  ii.  21.] 


1S36]  ROBERT  BROWNING  81 

well  as  gifted  woman,  and  much  appreciated  by  those  of 
the  poet's  friends  who  knew  her  as  a  resident  in  London 
during  her  last  years.  A  portrait  which  she  took  of  him  in 
1874  is  considered  by  some  persons  very  good. 

At  about  this  time  also,  and  probably  through  Miss 
Hawort'-i,  he  became  acquainted  with  Miss  Martineau. 

Soon  after  his  introduction  to  Macready,  if  not  before, 
Mr.  Browning  became  busy  with  the  thought  of  writing  for 
the  stage.  The  diary  has  this  entry  for  February  IG, 
1836: 

"  Forster  and  Browning  called,  and  talked  over  the  plot 
of  a  tragedy,  which  Browning  had  begun  to  think  of :  the 
subject,  Narses.  He  said  that  I  had  hit  him  by  my  per- 
formance of  Othello,  and  I  told  him  I  hoped  I  should  make 
the  blood  come.  It  would  indeed  be  some  recompense  for 
the  miseries,  the  humiliations,  the  heart-sickening  disgusts 
which  I  have  endured  in  my  profession,  if,  by  its  exercise,  I 
had  awakened  a  spirit  of  poetry  whose  influence  would 
elevate,  ennoble,  and  adorn  our  degraded  drama.  May 
it  be  I " 

But  Narses  was  abandoned,  and  the  more  serious  in- 
spiration and  more  definite  motive  were  to  come  later. 
They  connect  themselves  with  one  of  the  pleasant  social 
occurrences  which  must  have  lived  in  the  young  poet's 
memory.  On  May  26  Ion  had  been  performed  for  the  first 
time,  and  with  great  success,  Mr.  Macready  sustaining  the 
principal  part ;  and  the  great  actor  and  a  number  of 
their  common  friends  had  met  at  supper  at  Serjeant  Tai- 
fourd's  house  to  celebrate  the  occasion.  The  party  included 
Wordsworth  and   Landor,  both  of  whom   Mr.  Browning 

G 


82  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1836 

then  met  for  the  first  time.  Toasts  flew  right  and  left.  Mr. 
Browning's  health  was  proposed  by  Serjeant  Talfourd  as 
that  of  the  youngest  poet  of  England,  and  "Wordsworth 
responded  to  the  appeal  with  very  kindly  courtesy.  The 
conversation  afterwards  turned  upon  plays,  and  Macready, 
who  had  ignored  a  half-joking  question  of  Miss  Mitford, 
whether,  if  she  wrote  one,  he  would  act  in  it,  overtook  Mr. 
Browning  as  they  were  leaving  the  house,  and  said,  "  Write 
a  play,  Browning,  and  keep  me  from  going  to  America." 
The  reply  was,  "  Shall  it  be  historical  and  English  ?  what 
do  you  say  to  a  drama  on  Strafford  ?  " 

This  ready  response  on  the  poet's  part  showed  that 
Strafford,  as  a  dramatic  subject,  had  been  occupying  his 
thoughts.  The  subject  was  in  the  air,  because  Forster  was 
then  bringing  out  a  life  of  that  statesman,  with  others 
belonging  to  the  same  period.  It  was  more  than  in  the 
air,  so  far  as  Browning  was  concerned,  because  his  friend 
had  been  disabled,  either  through  sickness  or  sorrow,  from 
finishing  this  volume  by  the  appointed  time,  and  he,  as  well 
he  might,  had  largely  helped  him  in  its  completion.^  It 
was,  however,  not  till  August  3  that  Macready  wrote  in  his 
diary : 

"  Forster  told  me  that  Browning  had  fixed  on  Strafford 
for  the  subject  of  a  tragedy  ;  he  could  not  have  hit  upon      11 
one  that  I  could  have  more  readily  concurred  in." 

1  [Miss  Barrett's  words  (resting,  of  course,  on  the  statement  of  1 

Browning  himself,  who  was  incapable  of  claiming  what  did  not 
belong  to  him)  imply  more  than  this :  "  I  forgot  again  your 
'  Strafiord ' — Mr.  Forster's  '  Strafford.'  I  beg  his  pardon  for  not 
attributing  to  him  other  men's  works  "  {Letters  ofB.  B.  and  E.  B,  B^ 
li.  215).] 


1836]  ROBERT   BROAVNING  83 

A  previous  entry  of  May  30,  the  occasion  of  which  is 
only  implied,  shows  with  how  high  an  estimate  of  Mr. 
Browning's  intellectual  importance  Macready's  professional 
relations  to  him  began. 

"  Arriving  at  chambers,  I  found  a  note  from  Browning 
What  can  I  say  upon  it  ?  It  was  a  tribute  which  remune- 
rated me  for  the  annoyances  and  cares  of  years  :  it  was  one 
of  the  very  highest,  may  I  not  say  the  highest,  honour  I 
have  through  life  received." 

The  estimate  maintained  itself  in  reference  to  the  value 
of  Mr.  Browning's  work,  since  he  wrote  on  March  13, 
1837  : 

"  Read  before  dinner  a  few  pages  of  Paracelsus,  which 
raises  my  wonder  the  more  I  read  it.  .  .  .  Looked  over  two 
plays,  which  it  was  not  possible  to  read,  hardly  as  I  tried. 
.  .  .  Read  some  scenes  in  Strafford,  which  restore  one  to 
the  world  of  sense  and  feeling  once  again." 

But  as  the  day  of  the  performance  drew  near,  he 
became  at  once  more  anxious  and  more  critical.  An  entry 
of  April  28  comments  somewhat  sharply  on  the  dramatic 
faults  of  Strafford,  besides  declaring  the  writer's  belief  that 
the  only  chance  for  it  is  in  the  acting,  which,  "  by  possi- 
bility, might  carry  it  to  the  end  without  disapprobation," 
though  he  dares  not  hope  without  opposition.  It  is  quite 
conceivable  that  his  first  complete  study  of  the  play,  and 
first  rehearsal  of  it,  brought  to  light  deficiencies  which  had 
previously  escaped  him  ;  but  so  complete  a  change  of  senti- 
ment points  also  to  private  causes  of  uneasiness  and  irrita- 
tion ;  and,  perhaps,  to  the  knowledge  that  its  being  saved 
by  collective  good  acting  was  out  of  the  question. 


84  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1836 

Strafford  was  performed  at  Covent  Garden  Theatre  on 
May  1.  Mr.  Browning  wrote  to  Mr.  Fox  after  one  of  the 
last  rehearsals : 

May  Day,  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields. 
Dear  Sir, — All  my  endeavours  to  procure  a  copy  before 
this  morning  have  been  fruitless.  I  send  the  first  book  of 
the  first  bundle.  Pray  look  over  it — the  alterations  to- 
night will  be  considerable.  The  complexion  of  the  piece  is, 
I  grieve  to  say,  "  perfect  gallows  "  just  now — our  king,  Mr. 
Dale,  being  .  .  .  but  you'll  see  him,  and,  I  fear,  not  much 
applaud. 

Your  unworthy  son,  in  things  literary, 

Egbert  Browning. 

P.S.  (in  pencil).  A  most  unnecessary  desire,  but  urged 
on  me  by  Messrs.  Longman  :  no  notice  on  Str.  in  to-night's 
True  Sun,^  lest  the  other  papers  be  jealous  1 1  I 

A  second  letter,  undated,  but  evidently  written  a  day 
or  two  later,  refers  to  the  promised  notice,  which  had  then 
appeared. 

Tuesday  Night. 

No  words  can  express  my  feelings  :  I  happen  to  be 
much  annoyed  and  unwell — but  your  most  generous  notice 
has  almost  made  "  my  soul  well  and  happy  now." 

I  thank  you,  my  most  kind,  most  constant  friend,  from 

my  heart  for  your  goodness — which  is  brave  enough,  just 

now. 

I  am  ever  and  increasingly  yours, 

Robert  Beownino. 

You  will  be  glad  to  see  me  on  the  earliest  occasion,  will 
you  not  ?     I  shall  certainly  come. 

*  Mr.  Fox  reviewed  Strafford  in  the  Trii€  Sun. 


1836]  ROBERT   BROWNING  85 

A  letter  from  Miss  Flower  to  Miss  Sarah  Fox  (sister 
to  the  Rev.  William  Fox),  at  Norwich,  contains  the  follow- 
ing passage,  which  evidently  continues  a  chapter  of  London 
news : 

*'  Then  Strafford ;  were  you  not  pleased  to  hear  of  the 
success  of  one  you  must,  I  think,  remember  a  very  little  boy, 
years  ago  ?  If  not,  you  have  often  heard  us  speak  of  Robert 
Browning  :  and  it  is  a  great  deal  to  have  accomplished  a 
successful  tragedy,  although  he  seems  a  good  deal  annoyed 
at  the  go  of  things  behind  the  scenes,  and  declares  he  will 
never  write  a  p!ay  again,  as  long  as  he  lives.  You  have  no 
idea  of  the  ignorance  and  obstinacy  of  the  whole  set,  with 
here  and  there  an  exception ;  think  of  his  having  to  write 
out  the  meaning  of  the  word  imjoeachment,  as  some  of  them 
thought  it  mea,nt  poaching J*^ 

On  the  first  night,  indeed,  the  fate  of  Strafford  hung  ia 
the  balance  ;  it  was  saved  by  Macready  and  Miss  Helen 
Faucit.^  After  this  they  must  have  been  better  supported, 
as  it  was  received  on  the  second  night  with  enthusiasm  by  a 
fuU  house.  The  catastrophe  came  after  the  fifth  perform- 
ance, with  the  desertion  of  the  actor  who  had  sustained  the 
part  of  Pym.  We  cannot  now  judge  whether,  even  under 
favourable  circumstances,  the  play  would  have  had  as  long 
a  run  as  was  intended  ;  but  the  casting  vote  in  favour  of 
this  view  is  given  by  the  conduct  of  Mr.  Osbaldistone,  the 
manager,  when  it  was  submitted  to  him.  The  diary  says, 
March  30,  that  he  caught  at  it  with  avidity,  aud  agreed  to 

*  [Miss  Faucit's  reminiscences  of  the  play  and  its  performance 
are  recorded  in  a  most  interesting  letter  written  by  her  in  1891,  and 
printed  in  Mrs.  Ritchie's  Tennyson,  Buskin,  and  Browning  (1892), 
p.  177.] 


86  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1836 

produce  it  without  delay.  The  terms  he  offered  to  the 
author  must  also  have  been  considered  favourable  in  those 
days. 

The  play  was  published  in  April  by  Longman,  this  time 
not  at  the  author's  expense  ;  but  it  brought  no  return  either 
to  him  or  to  his  publisher.  It  was  dedicated  "in  all 
affectionate  admiration  "  to  "William  C.  Macready. 

We  gain  some  personal  glimpses  of  the  Browning  of 
1835-G  ;  one  especially  through  Mrs.  Bridell-Fox,  who  thus 
describes  her  first  meeting  with  him  : 

"  I  remember  .  ,  .  when  Mr.  Browning  entered  the 
drawing-room,  with  a  quick  light  step ;  and  on  hearing 
from  me  that  my  father  was  out,  and  in  fact  that  nobody 
was  at  home  but  myself,  he  said  :  '  It's  my  birthday  to-day  ; 
I'll  wait  till  they  come  in,'  and  sitting  down  to  the  piano, 
he  added  :  '  If  it  won't  disturb  you,  I'll  play  till  they  do.' 
And  as  he  turned  to  the  instrument,  the  bells  of  some 
neighbouring  church  suddenly  burst  out  with  a  frantic  merry 
peal.  It  seemed,  to  my  childish  fancy,  as  if  in  response  to 
the  remark  that  it  was  his  birthday.  He  was  then  slim  and 
dark,  and  very  handsome  ;  and — may  I  hint  it — just  a  trifle 
of  a  dandy,  addicted  to  lemon-coloured  kid-gloves  and  such 
things  :  quite  '  the  glass  of  fashion  and  the  mould  of  form.' 
But  full  of  ambition,  eager  for  success,  eager  for  fame,  and, 
what's  more,  determined  to  conquer  fame  and  to  achieve 
success." 

I  do  not  think  his  memory  ever  taxed  him  with  foppish- 
ness, though  he  may  have  had  the  innocent  personal  vanity 
of  an  attractive  young  man  at  his  first  period  of  much 
seeing  and  being  seen  ;  bat  all  we  know  of  him  at  that 
time  bears  out  the  impression   Mrs.  Fox  conveys,  of  a 


1836]  ROBERT  BROWNING  87 

joyous,  artless  confidence  in  himself  and  in  life,  easily 
depressed,  but  quickly  reasserting  itself  ;  and  in  which  the 
eagerness  for  new  experiences  had  freed  itself  from  the 
rebellious  impatience  of  boyish  days.  The  self-confidence 
had  its  touches  of  flippancy  and  conceit ;  but  on  this  side 
it  must  have  been  constantly  counteracted  by  his  gratitude 
for  kindness,  and  by  his  enthusiastic  appreciation  of  the 
merits  of  other  men.  His  powers  of  feeling,  indeed, 
greatly  expended  themselves  in  this  way.  He  was  very 
attractive  to  women  and,  as  we  have  seen,  warmly  loved 
by  very  various  types  of  men ;  but,  except  in  its  poetic 
sense,  his  emotional  nature  was  by  no  means  then  in  the 
ascendant :  a  fact  difficult  to  realize  when  we  remember 
the  passion  of  his  childhood's  love  for  mother  and  home, 
and  the  new  and  deep  capabilities  of  affection  to  be 
developed  in  future  days.  The  poet's  soul  in  him  was 
feeling  its  wings  ;  the  realities  of  life  had  not  yet  begun  to 
weight  them. 

We  see  him  again  at  the  Ion  supper,  in  the  grace  and 
modesty  with  which  he  received  the  honours  then  adjudged 
to  him.  The  testimony  has  been  said  to  come  from  J^Iiss 
Mitford,  but  may  easily  have  been  suppUed  by  Miss 
Haworth,  who  was  also  present  on  this  occasion. 

Mr.  Browning's  impulse  towards  play-writing  had  not, 
as  we  have  seen,  begun  with  Strafford,  It  was  still  very 
far  from  being  exhausted.  And  though  he  had  struck  out 
for  himself  another  line  of  dramatic  activity,  his  love  for 
the  higher  theatrical  life,  and  the  legitimate  inducements  of 
the  more  lucrative  and  not  necessarily  less  noble  form  of 
composition,  might  ultimately  in  some  degree  have  pre- 
vailed  with  him  if  circumstances  had  been  such  as  to 


88  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1837- 

educate  his  theatrical  capabiHties,  and  to  reward  them. 
His  first  acted  drama  was,  however,  an  interlude  to  the 
production  of  the  important  group  of  poems  which  was 
to  be  completed  by  Sordello ;  and  he  alludes  to  this  later 
work  in  an  also  discarded  preface  to  Strafford,  as  one  on 
which  he  had  for  some  time  been  engaged.  He  even  cha- 
racterizes the  Tragedy  as  an  attempt  "  to  freshen  a  jaded 
mind  by  diverting  it  to  the  healthy  natures  of  a  grand 
epoch."  Sordello  again  occupied  him  during  the  remainder 
of  1837  and  the  beginning  of  1838  ;  and  by  the  spring  of 
this  year  he  must  have  been  thankful  to  vary  the  scene 
and  mode  of  his  labours  by  means  of  a  first  visit  to  Italy. 
He  announces  his  impending  journey,  with  its  immediate 
plan  and  purpose,  in  the  following  note : 

To  John  Rohertson,  Esq. 

Good  Friday,  1838. 

Dear  Sir, — I  was  not  fortunate  enough  to  find  you  the 
day  before  yesterday — and  must  tell  you  very  hurriedly  that 
I  sail  this  morning  for  Venice — intending  to  finish  my 
poem  among  the  scenes  it  describes.  I  shall  have  your 
good  wishes  I  know. 

Believe  me,  in  return, 
Dear  Sir, 

Yours  faithfully  and  obliged, 
Robert  Browning. 

Mr.  John  Robertson  had  influence  with  the  Westminster 
Review^  either  as  editor,  or  member  of  its  staff.  He  had 
been  introduced  to  Mr.  Browning  by  Miss  Martineau  ;  and, 
being  a  great  admirer  of  Paracelsus,  had  promised  careful 


1838]  ROBERT   BROWNING  89 

attention  for  Sordello  ;  but,  when  the  time  approached,  he 
made  conditions  of  early  reading,  &c.,  which  Mr.  Browning 
thought  so  unfair  towards  other  magazines  that  he  refused 
to  fulfil  them.  He  lost  his  review,  and  the  goodwill  of  its 
intending  writer  ;  and  even  Miss  Martineau  was  ever  after- 
wards cooler  towards  him,  though  his  attitude  in  the 
matter  had  been  in  some  degree  prompted  by  a  chivalrous 
partisanship  for  her. 


90  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF 


CHAPTER  YII 

1838-1841 

First  Italian  Journey  —  Letters  to  Miss  Haworth  —  Mr.  John 
Kenyon — Sordello — Letter  to  Miss  Flower — Pippa  Passes- 
Bells  and  Pomegranates. 

Me.  Browning  sailed  from  London  with  Captain  Davidson 
of  the  "Norham  Castle,"  a  merchant  vessel  bound  for 
Trieste,  on  which  he  found  himself  the  only  passenger.  A 
striking  experience  of  the  voyage,  and  some  characteristic 
personal  details,  are  given  in  the  following  letter  to  Miss 
Haworth.  It  is  dated  1838,  and  was  probably  written 
before  that  year's  summer  had  closed. 

Tuesday  Evening. 
Dear  Miss  Haworth, — Do  look  at  a  fuchsia  in  full 
bloom  and  notice  the  clear  little  honey-drop  depending 
from  every  flower.  I  have  just  found  it  out  to  my  no 
small  satisfaction, — a  bee's  breakfast.  I  only  answer  for 
the  long-blossomed  sort,  though — indeed,  for  this  plant  in 
my  room.  Taste  and  be  Titania ;  you  can,  that  is.  All 
this  while  I  forget  that  you  will  perhaps  never  guess  the 
good  of  the  discovery :  I  have,  you  are  to.  know,  such  a 
love  for  flowers  and  leaves — some  leaves — that  I  every  now 
and  then,  in  an  inapatience  at  being  able  to  possess  myself 
of  them  thoroughly,  to  see  them  quite,  satiate  myself  with 


1838]  ROBERT  BROWNING  91 

their  scent, — bite  them  to  bits — so  there  will  be  some  sense 
in  that.  How  I  remember  the  flowers — even  grasses — of 
places  I  have  seen !  Some  one  flower  or  weed,  I  should 
Bay,  that  gets  some  strangehow  connected  with  them. 

Snowdrops  and  Tilsit  in  Prussia  go  together  ;  cowslips 
and  Windsor  Park,  for  instance  ;  flowering  palm  and  some 
place  or  other  in  Holland. 

Now  to  answer  what  can  be  answered  in  the  letter  I 
was  happy  to  receive  last  week.  I  am  quite  well.  I  did 
not  expect  you  would  write, — for  none  of  your  written 
reasons,  however.  You  will  see  Sordello  in  a  trice,  if  the 
fagging  fit  holds.  I  did  not  write  six  lines  while  absent 
(except  a  scene  in  a  play,  jotted  down  as  we  sailed  thro'  the 
Straits  of  Gibraltar) — but  I  did  hammer  out  some  four,  two 
of  which  are  addressed  to  you,  two  to  the  Queen  ^ — the 
whole  to  go  in  Book  III — perhaps.  I  called  you  "Eye- 
bright  " — meaning  a  simple  and  sad  sort  of  translation  of 
"  Euphrasia "  into  my  own  language :  folks  would  know 
who  Euphrasia,  or  Fanny,  was — and  I  should  not  know 
lanthe  or  Clemanthe.  Not  that  there  is  anything  in  them 
to  care  for,  good  or  bad.     Shall  I  say  "  Eyebright "  ? 

I  was  disappointed  in  one  thing,  Canova. 

"What  companions  should  I  have  ? 

The  story  of  the  ship  must  have  reached  you  "  with  a 
difference "  as  Ophelia  says  ;  my  sister  told  it  to  a  Mr. 
Dow,  who  delivered  it  to  Forster,  I  suppose,  who  furnished 
Macready  with  it,  who  made  it  over  &c.,  &c.,  &c. — As  short 
as  I  can  tell,  this  way  it  happened :  the  captain  woke  me 
one  bright  Sunday  morning  to  say  there  was  a  ship  floating 
keel  uppermost  half  a  mile  off  ;  they  lowered  a  boat,  made 
ropes  fast  to  some  floating  canvas,  and  towed  her  towards 

our  vessel.     Both  met  halfway,  and  the  little  air  that  had 

• 

•  I  know  no  passage  which  contains  any  allusion  to  the  Queen, 


92  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1838 

risen  an  hour  or  two  before,  sank  at  once.     Our  men  made 
the  wreck  fast  in  high  glee  at  having  "  new  trousers  out  of 
the  sails,"  and  quite  sure  she  was  a  French  boat,  broken 
from  her  moorings  at  Algiers,  close  by.     Ropes  were  next 
hove  (hang  this  sea-talk  !)  round  her  stanchions,  and  after 
a  quarter  of  an  hour's  pushing  at  the  capstan,  the  vessel 
righted  suddenly,  one  dead  body  floating  out ;  five  more 
were  in  the  forecastle,  and  had  probably  been  there  a  month 
under  a  blazing  African  sun — don't  imagine  the  wretched 
state  of  things.     They  were,  these  six,  the  "  watch  below  " 
— (I  give  you  the  result  of  the  day's  observation) — the  rest, 
some  eight  or  ten,  had  been  washed  overboard  at  first. 
One  or  two  were  Algerines,  the  rest  Spaniards.     The  vessel 
was  a  smuggler    bound    for   Gibraltar  ;   there   were  two 
stupidly  disproportionate  guns,  taking  up  the  whole  deck, 
which  was  convex  and — nay,  look  you  !  [a  rough  pen-and- 
ink  sketch  of  the  dilferent  parts  of  the  wreck  is  here  intro- 
duced] these  are  the  gun-rings,  and  the  black  square  the 
place  where  the  bodies  lay.    (All  the  "  bulwarks  "  or  sides 
of  the  top,  carried  away  by  the  waves.)     Well,  the  sailors 
covered  up  the  hatchway,  broke  up  the  aft-deck,  hauled  up 
tobacco  and  cigars,  such  heaps  of  them,  and  then  bale  after 
bale  of  prints  and  chintz,  don't  you  call  it,  till  the  captain 
was  half-frightened — he  would  get  at  the  ship's  papers,  he 
said ;  so  these  poor  fellows  were  pulled  up,  piecemeal,  and 
pitched  into  the  sea,  the  very  sailors  calling  to  each  other  to 
"  cover  the  faces," — no  papers  of  importance  were  found, 
however,  but  fifteen  swords,  powder  and  ball  enough  for  a 
dozen  such  boats,  and  bundles  of  cotton,  &c.,  that  would 
have  taken  a  day  to  get  out,  but  the  captain  vowed  that 
after  five  o'clock  she  should  be  cut  adrift  :  accordingly  she 
was  cast  loose,  not  a  third  of  her  cargo  having  been  touched  ; 
and  you  hardly  can  conceive  the  strange  sight  when  the 
battered  hulk  turned  round,  actually,  and  looked  at  us. 


\ 

1838]  ROBERT   BROWNING  93 

and  then  reeled  off,  like  a  mutilated  creature  from  some 
scoundrel  French  surgeon's  lecture-table,  into  the  most 
gorgeous  and  lavish  sunset  in  the  world  :  there  ;  only  thank 
me  for  not  taking  you  at  your  word,  and  giving  you  the 
whole  "  story."—"  What  I  did  ?  "  I  went  to  Trieste,  then 
Venice — then  through  Treviso  and  Bassano  to  the  moun- 
tains, delicious  Asolo,  all  my  places  and  castles,  you  will 
see.  Then  to  Vicenza,  Padua,  and  Venice  again.  Then  to 
Verona,  Trent,  Innspruck  (the  Tyrol),  Munich,  Salzburg  in 
Franconia,  Frankfort  and  Mayence  ;  down  the  Rhine  to 
Cologne,  then  to  Aix-la-Chapelle,  Liege  and  Antwerp — then 
home.  Shall  you  come  to  town,  anywhere  near  town,  soon  ? 
I  shall  be  off  again  as  soon  as  my  book  is  out,  whenever 
that  will  be. 

I  never  read  that  book  of  Miss  Martineau's,  so  can't 
understand  what  you  mean.  Macready  is  looking  well ;  I 
just  saw  him  the  other  day  for  a  minute  after  the  play ; 
his  Kitely  was  Kitely — superb  from  his  flat  cap  down  to 
his  shining  shoes.  I  saw  very  few  Italians,  "  to  know,"  that 
is.  Those  I  did  see  I  liked.  Your  friend  Pepoli  has  been 
lecturing  here,  has  he  not  ? 

I  shall  be  vexed  if  you  don't  write  soon,  a  long  Elstree 
letter.    "What  are  you  doing,  writing — drawing  ? 

Ever  yours  truly 

R.B. 

To  Itliss  Haworth, 

Barham  Lodge,  Elstree. 

Miss  Browning's  account  of  this  experience,  supplied 
from  memory  of  her  brother's  letters  and  conversations, 
contains  some  vivid  supplementary  details.  The  drifting 
away  of  the  wreck  put  probably  no  effective  distance  between 
it  and  the  ship  ;  hence  the  necessity  of  "  sailing  away " 
from  it. 


9^  LIFE   AND   LETl^ERS   OF  [1838 

"  Of  the  dead  pirates,  one  had  his  hands  clasped  as  if 
praying  ;  another,  a 'severe  gash  in  his  head.  The  captain 
burnt  disinfectants  and  blew  gunpowder,  before  venturing 
on  board,  but  even  then,  he,  a  powerful  man,  turned  very 
sick  with  the  smell  and  sight.  They  stayed  one  whole  day 
by  the  side,  but  the  sailors,  in  spite  of  orders,  began  to 
plunder  the  cigars,  &c.  The  captain  said  privately  to 
Eobert,  '  I  cannot  restrain  my  men,  and  they  will  bring  the 
plague  into  our  ship,  so  I  mean  quietly  in  the  night  to  sail 
away.'  Robert  took  two  cutlasses  and  a  dagger  ;  they 
were  of  the  coarsest  workmanship,  intended  for  use.  At 
the  end  of  one  of  the  sheaths  was  a  heavy  bullet,  so  that  it 
could  be  used  as  a  sling.  The  day  after,  to  their  great 
relief,  a  heavy  rain  fell  and  cleansed  the  ship.  Captain 
Davidson  reported  the  sight  of  the  wreck  and  its  condition 
as  soon  as  he  arrived  at  Trieste." 

Miss  Browning  also  relates  that  the  weather  was  stormy 
in  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  and  for  the  first  fortnight  her  brother 
suffered  terribly.  The  captain  supported  him  on  to  the 
deck  as  they  passed  through  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar,  that 
he  might  not  lose  the  sight.  He  recovered,  as  we  know, 
sufficiently  to  write  How  they  Irought  the  Good  News  from 
Ghent  to  Aix  ;  but  we  can  imagine  in  what  revulsion  of 
feeling  towards  firm  land  and  healthy  motion  this  dream  of 
a  headlong  gallop  was  born  in  him.  The  poem  was  pencilled 
on  the  cover  of  Bartoli's  Z>e'  Simholi  trasportati  al  MoraUy 
a  favourite  book  and  constant  companion  of  his ;  and,  in 
spite  of  perfect  effacement  as  far  as  the  sense  goes,  the 
pencil  dints  are  still  visible.  The  little  poem  Home 
Thoughts  from  the  Sea  was  written  at  the  same  time,  and  in 
the  same  manner. 


i 


1838]  ROBERT   BROWNING  DiJ 

By  the  time  they  reached  Trieste,  the  captain,  a  rongh 
north  countryman,  had  become  so  attached  to  Mr.  Browning 
that  he  offered  him  a  free  passage  to  Constantinople  ;  and 
after  they  had  parted,  carefully  preserved,  by  way  of 
remembrance,  a  pair  of  very  old  gloves  worn  by  him  on 
deck.  Mr.  Browning  might,  on  such  an  occasion,  have  dis- 
pensed with  gloves  altogether ;  but  it  was  one  of  his 
peculiarities  that  he  could  never  endure  to  be  out  of  doors 
with  uncovered  hands.  The  captain  also  showed  his  friendly 
feeling  on  his  return  to  England  by  bringing  to  Miss 
Browning,  whom  he  had  heard  of  through  her  brother,  a 
present  of  six  bottles  of  attar  of  roses. 

The  inspirations  of  Asolo  and  Venice  appear  in  Pippa 
Passes  and  I/i  a  Gondola  ;  but  the  latter  poem  showed,  to 
Mr.  Browning's  subsequent  vexation,  that  Venice  had  been 
imperfectly  seen  ;  and  the  magnetism  which  Asolo  was  to 
exercise  upon  him  only  fully  asserted  itself  at  a  much  later 
time. 

A  second  letter  to  Miss  Haworth  is  undated,  but  may 
have  been  written  at  any  period  of  this  or  the  ensuing  year. 

I  have  received,  a  couple  of  weeks  since,  a  present — an 
album  large  and  gaping,  and  as  Gibber's  Eichard  says  of  the 
"  fair  Elizabeth  "  :  "  My  heart  is  empty— she  shall  fill  it  "— 
so  say  I  (impudently  ?)  of  my  grand  trouble-table,  which 
holds  a  sketch  or  two  by  my  fine  fellow  Monclar — one 
lithograph — his  own  face  of  faces, — "all  the  rest  was 
amethyst."  F.  H.  everywhere  !  not  a  soul  beside  "  in  the 
chrystal  silence  there,"  and  it  locks,  this  album  ;  now,  don't 
shower  drawings  on  M.,  who  has  so  many  advantages  over 
me  as  it  is  :  or  at  least  don't  bid  me  of  all  others  say  what 
he  is  to  have. 


96  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1838- 

The  "  Master  "  is  somebody  you  don't  know,  W.  J.  Fox, 
a  magnificent  and  poetical  nature,  who  used  to  write  in 
reviews  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  to  whom  my  verses,  a  bookf ul, 
written  at  the  ripe  age  of  twelve  and  thirteen,  were  shown  : 
which  verses  he  praised  not  a  little  ;  which  praise  comforted 
me  not  a  little.  Then  I  lost  sight  of  him  for  year?  and  years  ; 
then  I  published  ano.vjmoudy  a  little  poem — which  he,  to 
my  inexpressible  delight,  praised  and  expounded  in  a  gallant 
article  in  a  magazine  of  which  he  was  the  editor  ;  then  I  found 
him  out  again  ;  he  got  a  publisher  for  Faracehus  (I  read  it 
to  him  in  manuscript)  and  is  in  short  "  my  literary  father." 
Pretty  nearly  the  same  thing  did  lie  for  Miss  Martineau,  as 
she  has  said  somewhere.  God  knows  I  forgot  what  the 
*'  talk,"  table-talk  was  about — I  think  she  must  have  told 
you  the  results  of  the  whole  day  we  spent  tete-a-tete  at 
Ascot,  and  that  day's,  the  dinner-day's  morning  at  Elstree 
and  St.  Albans.  She  is  to  give  me  advice  about  my  worldly 
concerns,  and  not  before  I  need  it  ! 

I  cannot  say  or  sing  the  pleasure  your  way  of  writing 
gives  me — do  go  on,  and  tell  me  all  sorts  of  things,  "  the 
story "  for  a  beginning ;  but  your  moralisings  on  "  your 
age  "  and  the  rest,  are — now  what  are  they  ?  not  to  be 
reasoned  on,  disputed,  laughed  at,  grieved  about :  they  are 
"  Fanny's  crotchets."  I  thank  thee,  Jew(lia),  for  teaching 
me  that  word. 

I  don't  know  that  I  shall  leave  town  for  a  month  :  my 
friend  Monclar  looks  piteous  when  I  talk  of  such  an  event. 
I  can't  bear  to  leave  him  ;  he  is  to  take  my  portrait  to-day 
(a  famous  one  he  has  taken  !)  and  very  like  he  engages  it 
shall  be.     I  am  going  to  town  for  the  purpose.  .  .  . 

Now,  then,  do  something  for  me,  and  see  if  I'll  ask  Miss 

!M to  help  you  I     I  am  going  to  begin  the  finishing 

Sordello — and  to  begin  thinking  a  Tragedy  (an  Historical 
one,  60  I  shall  want  heaps  of  criticisms  on  Strafford)  and  I 


1839]  ROBERT  BROWNING  97 

want  to  have  another  tragedy  in  prospect,  I  write  best  so 
provided  :  I  had  chosen  a  splendid  subject  for  it,  when  1 
learned  that  a  magazine  for  next,  this,  month,  will  have  a 
Bcene  founded  on  my  story  ;  vulgarizing,  or  doing  no  good 
to  it  :  and  I  accordingly  throw  it  up.  I  want  a  subject  of 
the  most  wild  and  passionate  love,  to  contrast  with  the  one 
I  mean  to  have  ready  in  a  short  time.  I  have  many  half- 
conceptions,  floating  fancies :  give  me  your  notion  of  a 
thorough  self-devotement,  self-forgetting  ;  should  it  be  a 
woman  who  loves  thus,  or  a  man  ?  What  circumstances 
will  best  draw  out,  set  forth  this  feeling  ?  .  .  . 

The  tragedies  in  question  wore  to  be  "  King  Victor  and 
King  Charles,"  and  "  The  Return  of  the  Druses." 

This  letter  affords  a  curious  insight  into  Mr.  Brown- 
ing's mode  of  work  ;  it  is  also  very  significant  of  the  small 
place  which  love  had  hitherto  occupied  in  his  life.  It  was 
evident,  from  his  appeal  to  Miss  Haworth's  "  notion "  on 
the  subject,  that  he  had  as  yet  no  experience,  even  imagin- 
ary, of  a  genuine  passion,  whether  in  woman  or  man.  The 
experience  was  still  distant  from  him  in  point  of  time.  In 
circumstance  he  was  nearer  to  it  than  he  knew  ;  for  it  was 
in  1839  that  he  became  acquainted  with  Mr.  Kenyon, 

When  dining  one  day  at  Serjeant  Talfourd's,  he  was 
accosted  by  a  pleasant  elderly  man,  who,  having,  we  con- 
clude, heard  who  he  was,  asked  leave  to  address  to  him  a 
few  questions  :  "  Was  his  father's  name  Robert  ?  had  he 
gone  to  school  at  the  Rev.  Mr.  Bell's  at  Cheshunt,  and  was 
he  still  alive  ?  "  On  receiving  affirmative  answers,  he  went 
on  to  say  that  Mr.  Browning  and  he  had  been  great  chums 
at  school,  and  though  they  had  lost  sight  of  each  other  in 
after-life,  he  had  never  forgotten  his  old  playmate,  but  even 

H 


98  LIFE   AND  LETTERS    OF  [1839- 

alluded  to  him  in  a  little  book  which  he  had  published  a 
few  years  before.^ 

The  next  morning  the  poet  asked  his  father  if  he 
remembered  a  schoolfellow  named  John  Kenyon.  He 
replied,  "  Certainly !  This  is  his  face,"  and  sketched  a 
boy's  head,  in  which  his  son  at  once  recognized  that  of 
the  grown  man.  The  acquaintance  was  renewed,  and 
Mr.  Kenyon  proved  ever  afterwards  a  warm  friend.  Mr. 
Browning  wrote  of  him,  in  a  letter  to  Professor  Knight  of 
St.  Andrews,  Jan.  10,  1884  :  "  He  was  one  of  the  best 
of  human  beings,  with  a  general  sympathy  for  excellence 
of  every  kind.  He  enjoyed  the  friendship  of  "Words- 
worth, of  Southey,  of  Landor,  and,  in  later  days,  was 
intimate  with  most  of  my  contemporaries  of  eminence.'* 
It  was  at  Mr.  Kenyon's  house  that  the  poet  saw  most 
of  "Wordsworth,  who  always  stayed  there  when  he  came 
to  town. 

In  March,^  1840,  Sordello  appeared.  It  was,  relatively 
to  its  length,  by  far  the  slowest  in  preparation  of  Mr. 
Browning's  poems.  This  seemed,  indeed,  a  condition  of 
its  peculiar  character.  It  had  lain  much  deeper  in  the 
author's  mind  than  the  various  slighter  works  which  were 
thrown  off  in  the  course  of  its  inception.  "We  know  from 
the  preface  to  Strafford  that  it  must  have  been  begun  soon 
after  Paracelsus.  Its  plan  may  have  belonged  to  a  still 
earlier  date ;  for  it  connects  itself  with  Pauline  as  the 
history  of  a  poetic  soul ;  with  both  the  earlier  poems,  as 
the  manifestation  of  the  self-conscious  spiritual  ambitions 

1  The  volume  is  entitled  Bhymed  Plea  for  Tolerance  (1833 ;  2nd 
ed.,  1839),  and  contains  a  reference  to  Mr.  Kenyon's  schooldays,  and 
to  the  classic  fights  which  Mr.  Browning  had  instituted, 

*  IBobert  Browning  and  Alfred  Domett,  p.  27.] 


1840]  ROBERT  BROWNING  99 

which  were  involved  in  that  history.  This  first  imagina- 
tive mood  was  also  outgrowing  itself  in  the  very  act  of 
Belf-expression ;  for  the  tragedies  written  before  the  con- 
clusion of  Bordello  impress  us  as  the  product  of  a  different 
mental  state — as  the  work  of  a  more  balanced  imagination 
and  a  more  mature  mind. 

It  would  be  interesting  to  learn  how  Mr.  Browning's 
typical  poet  became  embodied  in  this  mediaeval  form : 
whether  the  half-mythical  character  of  the  real  Sordello 
presented  him  as  a  fitting  subject  for  imaginative  psycho- 
logical treatment,  or  whether  the  circumstances  among 
which  he  moved  seemed  the  best  adapted  to  the  develop- 
ment of  the  intended  type.  The  inspiration  may  have 
come  through  the  study  of  Dante,  and  his  testimony  to 
the  creative  influence  of  Sordello  on  their  mother-tongue. 
That  period  of  Italian  history  must  also  have  assumed,  if 
it  did  not  already  possess,  a  great  charm  for  Mr.  Browning's 
fancy,  since  he  studied  no  less  than  thirty  works  upon  it, 
which  were  to  contribute  little  more  to  his  dramatic  picture 
than  what  he  calls  "decoration,"  or  "background."  But 
the  one  guide  which  he  has  given  us  to  the  reading  of  the 
poem  is  his  assertion  that  its  historical  circumstance  is 
only  to  be  regarded  as  background  ;  and  the  extent  to 
which  he  identified  himself  with  the  figure  of  Sordello  has 
been  proved  by  his  continued  belief  that  its  prominence 
was  throughout  maintained.  He  could  still  declare,  so 
late  as  1863,  in  his  preface  to  the  reprint  of  the  work,  that 
his  stress  in  writing  it  had  lain  on  the  incidents  in  the 
development  of  a  soul,  little  else  being  to  his  mind  tvorth 
study.  I  cannot  therefore  help  thinking  that  recent  in« 
vestigations  of  the  hfe  and  character  of  the  actual  poet. 


100  LIFE  AND  LETTERS   OF  [1840 

however  in  themselves  praiseworthy  and  interesting,  have 
been  often  in  some  degree  a  mistake ;  because,  directly  or 
indirectly,  they  referred  Mr.  Browning's  Sordello  to  an 
historical  reality,  which  his  author  had  grasped,  as  far  as 
was  then  possible,  but  to  which  he  was  never  intended  to 
conform. 

Sordello's  story  does  exhibit  the  development  of  a  soul ; 
or  rather,  the  sudden  awakening  of  a  self-regarding  nature 
to  the  claims  of  other  men — the  sudden,  though  slowly 
prepared,  expansion  of  the  narrower  into  the  larger  self, 
the  selfish  into  the  sympathetic  existence ;  and  this  takes 
place  in  accordance  with  Mr.  Browning's  here  expressed 
belief  that  poetry  is  the  appointed  vehicle  for  all  lasting 
truths ;  that  the  true  poet  must  be  their  exponent.  The 
work  is  thus  obviously,  in  point  of  moral  utterance,  an 
advance  on  Pauline.  Its  metaphysics  are,  also,  more  dis- 
tinctly formulated  than  those  of  either  Pauline  or  Para- 
celsus ;  and  the  frequent  use  of  the  term  Will  in  its 
metaphysical  sense  so  strongly  points  to  German  associa- 
tions that  it  is  difficult  to  realize  their  absence,  then  and 
always,  from  Mr.  Browning's  mind.  But  he  was  emphatic 
in  his  assurance  that  he  knew  neither  the  German  philo- 
sophers nor  their  reflection  in  Coleridge,  who  would  have 
seemed  a  likely  medium  between  them  and  him.  Miss 
Martineau  once  said  to  him  that  he  had  no  need  to  study 
German  thought,  since  his  mind  was  German  enough — by 
which  she  possibly  meant  too  German — already. 

The  poem  also  impresses  us  by  a  Gothic  richness  of 
detail,^  the  picturesque  counterpart  of    its    intricacy  of 

»  The  term  Gothic  has  been  applied  to  Mr.  Browning's  work,  I 
believe,  by  Mr.  James  Thomson,  in  writing  of  The  Ring  and  tht 


1840]  ROBERT  BROWNING  101 

thought,  and,  perhaps  for  this  very  reason,  never  so  fully 
displayed  in  any  subsequent  work.  i\Ir.  Browning's 
genuinely  modest  attitude  towards  it  could  not  preclude 
the  consciousness  of  the  many  imaginative  beauties  which 
its  unpopular  character  had  served  to  conceal ;  and  he 
was  glad  to  find,  some  years  ago,  that  SordeUo  was  repre- 
sented in  a  collection  of  descriptive  passages  which  a  friend 
of  his  was  proposing  to  make.  "  There  is  a  great  deal  of 
that  in  it,"  he  said,  "  and  it  has  always  been  overlooked." 

It  was  unfortunate  that  new  ditRculties  of  style  should 
have  added  themselves  on  this  occasion  to  those  of  subject 
and  treatment ;  and  the  reason  of  it  is  not  generally  known. 
Mr.  John  Sterling  had  made  some  comments  on  the  word- 
ing of  Paracelsus ;  and  Miss  Caroline  Fox,  then  quite  a 
young  woman,  repeated  them,  with  additions,  to  Miss 
Haworth,  who,  in  her  turn,  communicated  them  to  Mr. 
Browning,  but  without  making  quite  clear  to  him  the 
source  from  which  they  sprang.  He  took  the  criticism 
much  more  seriously  than  it  deserved,  and  condensed  the 
language  of  this  his  next  important  publication  into  what 
was  nearly  its  present  form. 

In  leaving  SordeUo  we  emerge  from  the  self-conscious 
stage  of  Mr.  Browning's  imagination,  and  his  work  ceases 
to  be  autobiographic  in  the  sense  in  which,  perhaps  errone- 
ously, we  have  hitherto  felt  it  to  be.  Festus  and  Salin- 
guerra  have  already  given  promise  of  the  world  of  "  Men 
and  "Women "  into  which  he  will  now  conduct  us.  They 
will  be  inspired  by  every  variety  of  conscious  motive,  but 

Book,  and  I  do  not  like  to  use  it  without  saying  so.  But  it  is  one 
of  those  which  must  have  spontaneously  suggested  themselves  ta 
many  other  of  Mr.  Browning's  readers. 


102  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [184(H 

never  again  by  the  old  (real  or  imagined)  self-c.ntred,  self- 
directing  Will.  We  have,  indeed,  already  lost  the  sense  of 
disparity  between  the  man  and  the  poet ;  for  the  Browning 
of  Sordello  was  growing  older,  while  the  defects  of  the  poem 
were  in  many  respects  those  of  youth.  In  Pipipa  Passes^ 
published  one  year  later,  the  poet  and  the  man  show  them- 
selves full-grown.  Each  has  entered  on  the  inheritance  of 
the  other. 

Neither  the  imagination  nor  the  passion  of  what  Mr. 
Gosse  so  fitly  calls  this  "  lyrical  masque "  ^  gives  much 
scope  for  tenderness  ;  but  the  quality  of  humour  is  displayed 
in  it  for  the  first  time  ;  as  also  a  strongly  marked  philosophy 
of  life — or  more  properly,  of  association — from  which  its 
idea  and  development  are  derived.  In  spite,  however,  of 
these  evidences  of  general  maturity,  Mr.  Browning  was  still 
sometimes  boyish  in  personal  intercourse,  if  we  may  judge 
from  a  letter  to  Miss  Flower  written  at  about  the  same 
time. 

Monday  nigM,  March  9  (?  1841 ).« 
My  dear  Miss  Flower, — I  have  this  moment  received 
your    very    kind    note — of    course,    I    understand    your 
objections.     How  else  ?    But  they  are  somewhat  lightened 

*  These  words,  and  a  subsequent  paragraph,  are  quoted  from 
Mr.  Gosse's  Personalia. 

*  [March  9  was  a  Monday  in  1840,  not  1841.  Hence,  if  the  date 
is  correct,  Pippa  had  already  been  shown  to  Miss  Flower  as  early  as 
March,  1840 — the  date  of  the  publication  of  Sordello.  With  regard 
to  the  "  three  plays  "  mentioned  at  the  end  of  this  letter,  the  letter 
to  Miss  Haworth  quoted  above  (p.  96)  shows  that  two  tragedies 
were  in  contemplation  before  Sordello  was  finished ;  and  a  letter  to 
Domett  {R.  B.  and  A.  D.,  p.  29)  shows  that  they  were  already 
advertised  when  Sordello  was  published.] 


I 


1841]  ROBERT  BROWNING  103 

already  (confess — nay  "  confess  "  is  vile — you  will  be  re* 
joiced  to  holla  from  the  house-top) — will  go  on,  or  rather 
go  off,  lightening,  and  will  be — oh,  where  iviJl  they  be  half 
a  dozen  years  hence  ? 

Meantime  praise  what  you  can  praise,  do  me  all  the 
good  you  can,  you  and  Mr.  Fox  (as  if  you  will  not !)  for  I 
have  a  head  full  of  projects — mean  to  song- write,  play- write 
forthwith, — and,  believe  me,  dear  Miss  Flower, 
Yours  ever  faithfully, 

Robert  Browning. 

By  the  way,  you  speak  of  Pippa — could  we  not  make  some 
arrangement  about  it  ?  The  lyrics  icant  your  music — five 
or  six  in  all — how  say  you  ?  When  these  three  plays  are 
out  I  hope  to  build  a  huge  Ode — but  "  all  goeth  by  God's 
Will." 

The  loyal  Alfred  Domett  now  appears  on  the  scene  with 
a  satirical  poem,  inspired  by  an  impertinent  criticism  on  his 
friend.     I  give  its  first  two  paragraphs  :  * 

ON  A   CERTAIN  CRITIQUE   ON   "PIPPA  PASSES." 
{Query — JPasses  wliat? — the  critic's  comprehension.) 
Ho  !  everyone  that  by  the  nose  is  led, 
Automatons  of  which  the  world  is  full, 
Ye  myriad  bodies,  each  without  a  head, 
That  dangle  from  a  critic's  brainless  skull, 
Come,  hearken  to  a  deep  discovery  made, 
A  mighty  truth  now  wondrously  displayed. 

A  black  squat  beetle,  vigorous  for  his  size, 

Pushing  tail-first  by  every  road  that's  wrong  ■     ^ 

The  dung-ball  of  his  dirty  thoughts  along 

His  tiny  sphere  of  grovelling  sympathies — 

•  [The  poem  was  reprinted,  with  verbal  alterations,  in  Domett'i 
Flotsam  and  Jetsam  (1877).] 


104  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1841 

Has  knocked  himself  full-butt,  with  blundering  trouble, 

Against  a  mountain  he  can  neither  double 

Nor  ever  hope  to  scale.     So  like  a  free, 

Pert,  self-conceited  scarabHSUs,  he 

Takes  it  into  his  horny  head  to  swear 

There's  no  such  thing  as  any  mountain  there. 

The  writer  lived  to  do  better  things  from  a  literary  point 
of  view  ;  but  these  lines  have  a  fine  ring  of  youthful  indig- 
nation which  must  have  made  them  a  welcome  tribute  to 
friendship. 

There  seems  to  have  been  little  respectful  criticism  of 
Pippa  Passes  ;  it  is  less  surprising  that  there  should  have 
been  very  little  of  Sordello,  Mr.  Browning,  it  is  true, 
retained  a  limited  numbar  of  earnest  appreciators,  foremost 
of  whom  was  the  writer  of  an  admirable  notice  of  these  two 
works,  quoted  from  an  Eclectic  Review  of  1847  in  Dr. 
FurnivaH's  Bihliographij.  I  am  also  told  that  the  series  of 
poems  which  was  next  to  appear  was  enthusiastically  greeted 
by  some  poets  and  painters  of  the  pre-Eaphaelite  school  ; 
but  he  was  now  entering  on  a  period  of  general  neglect, 
which  covered  nearly  twenty  years  of  his  life,  and  much 
that  has  since  become  most  deservedly  popular  in  his  work. 

Pippa  Passes  appeared  in  1841  as  the  first  instalment  of 
Bells  and  Pomegranates,  the  history  of  which  I  give  in  Mr. 
Gosse's  words.  This  poem,  and  the  two  tragedies.  King 
Victor  and  King  Charles  and  The  Return  of  the  Druses — first 
christened  Mansoor,  the  Hierophant — were  lying  idle  in  Mr. 
Browning's  desk.  He  had  not  found,  perhaps  not  very 
vigorously  sought,  a  publisher  for  them. 

"  One  day,  as  the  poet  was  discussing  the  matter  with 
Mr.  Edward  Moxon,  the  publisher,  the  latter  remarked  that 


1841]  ROBERT   BROWNING  105 

at  that  time  he  was  bringing  out  some  editions  of  the  old 
Elizabethan  dramatists  in  a  comparatively  cheap  form,  and 
that  if  Mr.  Browning  would  consent  to  print  his  poems  as 
pamphlets,  using  this  cheap  type,  the  expense  would  be 
very  inconsiderable.  The  poet  jumped  at  the  idea,  and  it 
was  agreed  that  each  poem  should  form  a  separate  brochure 
of  just  one  sheet — sixteen  pages  in  double  columns — the 
entire  cost  of  which  should  not  exceed  twelve  or  fifteen 
pounds.  In  this  fashion  began  the  celebrated  series  of 
Bdh  and  Pomegranates,  eight  numbers  of  which,  a  perfect 
treasury  of  fine  poetry,  came  out  successively  between  1841 
and  1846.  Pijipa  Passes  led  the  way,  and  was  priced  first 
at  sixpence ;  then,  the  sale  being  inconsiderable,  at  a 
shilling,  which  greatly  encouraged  the  sale  ;  and  so,  slowly, 
up  to  half-a-crown,  at  which  the  price  of  each  number 
finally  rested."  ^ 

Mr.  Browning's  hopes  and  intentions  with  respect  to 
this  series  are  announced  in  the  following  preface  to  Pippa 
Passes,  of  which,  in  later  editions,  only  the  dedicatory  worda 
appear : 

"  Two  or  three  years  ago  I  wrote  a  Play,  about  which 
the  chief  matter  I  much  care  to  recolL  ct  at  present  is,  that 
a  Pit-full  of  goodnatured  people  applauded  it : — ever  since, 
I  have  been  desirous  of  doing  something  in  the  same  way 
that  should  better  reward  their  attention.  What  follows  I 
mean  for  the  first  of  a  series  of  Dramatical  Pieces,  to  come  out 
at  intervals,  and  I  amuse  myself  by  fancying  that  the  cheap 
mode  in  which  they  appear  will  for  once  help  me  to  a  sorti 

^  [This  does  not  seem  to  be  quite  accurately  expressed.  Accord, 
ing  to  the  covers  of  the  original  issues,  No,  1  (Pippa  Passes)  waa 
published  at  sixpence ;  Nos.  2-6  at  a  shilling ;  No.  7  at  two  shillings ; 
uid  No.  8  at  half  a  crown.] 


106  LIFE   AND   LETTEKb   OF  [1841 

of  Pit-audience  again.  Of  course,  such  a  work  must  go  on 
no  longer  than  it  is  liked  ;  and  to  provide  against  a  certain 
and  but  too  possible  contingency,  let  me  hasten  to  say  now 
— what,  if  I  were  sure  of  success,  I  would  try  to  say  cir- 
cumstantially enough  at  the  close — that  I  dedicate  my  best 
intentions  most  admiringly  to  the  author  of  '  Ion ' — most 
affectionately  to  Serjeant  Talfourd.'* 

A  necessary  explanation  of  the  general  title  was  reserved 
for  the  last  number:  and  does  something  towards  justifying 
the  popular  impression  that  Mr.  Browning  exacted  a  large 
measure  of  literary  insight  from  his  readers.^ 

"  Here  ends  my  first  series  of  '  Bells  and  Pomegra- 
nates : '  and  I  take  the  opportunity  of  explaiuiug,  in  reply 
to  inquiries,  that  I  only  meant  by  that  title  to  indicate  an 
endeavour  towards  something  like  an  alternation,  or  mix- 
ture, of  music  with  discoursing,  sound  with  sense,  poetry 
with  thought ;  which  looks  too  ambitious,  thus  expressed, 
so  the  symbol  was  preferred.  It  is  little  to  the  purpose, 
that  such  is  actually  one  of  the  most  familiar  of  the  many 
Rabbinical  (and  Patristic)  acceptations  of  the  phrase  ; 
because  I  confess  that,  letting  authority  alone,  I  supposed 
the  bare  words,  in  such  juxtaposition,  would  sufficiently 
convey  the  desired  meaning.  '  Faith  and  good  works  '  is 
another  fancy,  for  instance,  and  perhaps  no  easier  to  arrive 

*  [The  insertion  of  this  explanatory  note  was  due  to  the  request 
of  Miss  Barrett  (Letters  of  R.  B.  and  E.  B.  B.,  i.  248),  to  whom  ha 
gives  the  solution  in  other  words  {ih.,  p.  250) :  "  The  Rabbis  make 
Bells  and  Pomegranates  symbolical  of  Pleasure  and  Profit,  the  gay 
and  the  grave,  the  Poetry  and  the  Prose,  Singing  and  Sermonizing, 
— such  a  mixture  of  efEects  as  in  the  original  hour  (that  is,  quarter 
of  an  hour)  of  confidence  and  creation  I  meant  the  whola  should 
prove  at  last."3 


1S4I3  ROBERT   BROWNING  107 

at  :  yet  Giotto  placed  a  pomegranate  fruit  in  the  hand  of 
Dante,  and  Raffaelle  crowned  his  Theology  (in  the  Camera 
deVa  Segnntura)  with  blossoms  of  the  same  ;  as  if  the 
Bellari  and  Vasari  would  be  sure  to  come  after,  and  explain 
that  it  was  merely  '  simholo  delle  buone  opere — il  qual  Porno 
graiiato  fu  perb  usato  nelle  vesti  del  Ponteflce  appresso  gli 
EbreV  " 

The  Dramas  and  Poems  contained  in  the  eight  numbers 
of  Bells  and  Pomegranates  were : 

I.     Pippa  Passes.     1841. 
IL     King  Victor  and  King  Charles.     1842. 
Til.     Dramatic  Lyrics.     1842. 

Cavalier    Tunes;     L  Marching     Along;    IL   Give  a 
Rouse ;     III.   My  Wife   Gertrude.     ["  Boot    and 
Saddle."] 
Italy  and  France  ;  I.  Italy  ;  11,  France. 
Camp  and  Cloister ;  I.  Camp  {French) ;  II.  Cloister 

{SpanisK). 
In  a  Gondola. 
Artemis  Prologuizes. 
Waring;  L,  IL 

Que§p  Worship ;  I.  Rudel  and  The  Lady  of  Tripoli ; 
ristina. 

Cells;   I.  [Johannes  Agricola.]     11.   [Por- 


^e  Metidja  to  Abd-el-Kadr.     1842. 
iper  of  Hamelin  ;  a  Child's  Story, 
^of  the  Druses.     A  Tragedy,  in  Five  Acts. 
1843. 

V.    A  Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon.     A  Tragedy,  in  Three  Acts. 
1843.     [Second  Edition,  same  year.] 
VL    Colombe's  Birthday.     A  Play,  in  Five  Acts.     1844. 
VII.     Dramatic  Romances  and  Lyrics.     1845. 

"  How  they  brought  the  Good  News  from  Ghent  to 
Aix.    (16—.)" 


108  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1841 

Pictor  Ignotus.     {Florence,  15 — .) 

Italy  in  England. 

England  in  Italy.     {Piano  di  Sorrento.') 

The  Lost  Leader. 

The  Lost  Midtress. 

Home  Thoughts,  from  Abroad. 

The  Tomb  at  St.  Praxed's  :  {Rome,  15—.) 

Garden  Fancies ;  I.  The  Flower's  Name ;  II.  Sibran- 

dus  Schafnaburgensis. 
France     and    Spain  ;     I.   The    Laboratory    (Ancien 

Eegime) ;  II.  Spain — The  Confessional. 
The  Flight  of  the  Duchess. 
Earth's  Immortalities. 

Song.     ("  Nay  but  you,  who  do  not  love  her.") 
The  Boy  and  the  Angel. 
Night  and  Morning ;  I.  Night ;  II,  Morning. 
Claret  and  Tokay. 
Saul.     (Part  I.) 
Time's  Eevenges. 

The  Glove.     (Petee  Ronsard  loquitur^ 
VIII.  and  last.     Luria ;  and  A  Soul's  Tragedy.     184G. 

This  publication  has  seemed  entitled  to  a  detailed 
notice,  because  it  is  practically  extinct^^id  because  its 
nature  and  circumstance  confer  on  it  a  y^^^^^l  interest 
not  possessed  by  any  subsequent  issu^^^^^^vowning's 
works.  The  dramas  and  poems  of  ^^^^^^^Bomposed 
belong  to  that  more  mature  period  o^^^^^^B's  life,  in 
which  the  analysis  of  his  work  ceases  ^^M^^  necessary 
part  of  his  history.  Some  few  of  them,  however,  are 
significant  to  it ;  and  this  is  notably  the  case  witli  A  Blot  in 
the  ^Scutcheon, 


ROBERT  BROWNING  109 


CHAPTER  YIII 
1841-1844 

A  Blot  in  (he  'Scutcheon — Letters  to  Mr.  Frank  Hill;  Lady 
Martin — Charles  Dickens — Other  Dramas  and  Minor  Poems — 
Letters  to  Miss  Lee;  Miss  Haworth;  Miss  Flower — Second 
Italian  Journey ;  Naples — E.  J.  Trelawny— Stendhal. 

A  Blot  in  the  ''Scutcheon  was  written  for  Macready,  who 
meant  to  perform  the  principal  part ;  and  we  may  conclude 
that  the  appeal  for  it  was  urgent,  since  it  was  composed  in 
the  space  of  four  or  five  days.  Macready's  journals  must 
have  contained  a  fuller  reference  to  both  the  play  and  its 
performance  (at  Drury  Lane,  11  February,  1843)  than 
appears  in  published  form  ;  but  considerable  irritation  had 
arisen  bet^|g|^wn  and  Mr.  Browning,  and  he  possibly 
wrote  som^^^^^wich  his  editor,  Sir  Frederick  Pollock,  as 
the  frieu<^^^^^Hiought  it  best  to  omit.  What  occurred 
on  this  oc^^^^^Vbeen  told  in  some  detail  by  Mr.  Gosse,^ 
and  would  «PdRd  repeating  if  the  question  were  only  of 
re-telling  it  on  the  same  authority,  in  another  person's 
words ;  but,  through  the  kindness  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frank 
Hill,  I  am  able  to  give  Mr.  Browning's  direct  statement  of 
the  case,  as  also  his  expressed  judgement  upon  it.  The 
statement  was  made  more  than  forty  years  later  than  the 

*  [Per&onalia,  p.  61  f .] 


no  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1843 

events  to  which  it  refers,  but  will,  nevertheless,  be  best 
j;iven  in  its  direct  connection  with  them.^ 

The  merits,  or  demerits,  of  A  Blot  in  the  ^Scutcheon  had 
been  freshly  brought  under  discussion  by  its  performance  in 
London  through  the  action  of  the  Browning  Society,  and  in 
"Washington  by  Mr.  Laurence  Barrett ;  and  it  became  the 
subject  of  a  parat::raph  in  one  of  the  theatrical  articles  pre- 
pared for  the  Daily  News.  Mr.  Hill  was  then  editor  of 
the  paper,  and  when  the  article  came  to  him  for  revision,  he 
thought  it  right  to  submit  to  Mr.  Browning  the  passages 
devoted  to  his  tragedy,  which  embodied  some  then  prevail- 
ing, but,  he  strongly  suspected,  erroneous  impressions  con- 
cerning it.  The  results  of  this  kind  and  courteous  proceeding 
appear  in  the  following  letter  : 

19,  Warwick  Crescent :  December  15,  1884. 
My  dear  Mr.  Hill, — It  was  kind  and  considerate  of  you 
to  suppress  the  paragraph  which  you  send  me, — and  of 
which  the  publication  would  have  been  unpleasant  for 
reasons  quite  other  than  as  regarding  my  own  work, — which 
exists  to  defend  or  accuse  itself.  You  will  judge  of  the 
true  reasons  when  I  tell  you  the  facts — sa^H|h^f  them  as 
contradicts  the  statements  of  your  crit^^^^Bl  suppose, 
has  received  a  stimulus  from  the  noj^^^^^BAmerican 
paper  which  arrived  last  week,  of  Mi^^^^^B  Barrett's 
intention  "  shortly  to  produce  the  play  V^^^HoTork — and 

'  [With  these  accounts  may  be  compared  the  contemporary  narra- 
tive of  Joseph  Arnould,  written  to  Domett  {Robert  Browning  and 
Alfred  Domett,  pp.  62-67).  Arnould  is,  of  course,  fiill  of  partisanship 
for  his  friend,  and  with  regard  to  the  details  of  the  negotiations  with 
Macready,  Browning's  recollections,  even  forty  years  afterwards,  are 
no  doubt  the  better  evidence  ;  but  on  the  reception  and  performance 
of  the  play,  Arnould,  who  attended  every  performance,  is  A  first- 
hand witness  of  unquestionable  trustworthiness.] 


1843]  ROBERT  BROWNING  lU 

subsequently  in  London  :  so  that  "  the  failure "  of  forty- 
one  years  ago  might  be  duly  influential  at  present — or  two 
years  hence  perhaps.  The  "  mere  amateurs  "  are  no  high 
game. 

Macready  received  and  accepted  the  play,  while  he  was 
engaged  at  the  Haymarket,  and  retained  it  for  Drury  Lane, 
of  which  I  was  ignorant  that  he  was  about  to  become  the 
manager  :  he  accepted  it  "  at  the  instigation  "  of  nobody, — 
and  Charles  Dickens  was  not  in  England  when  he  did  so : 
it  was  read  to  him  after  his  return,  by  Forster — and  the 
glowing  letter  which  contains  his  opinion  of  it,  although 
directed  by  him  to  be  shown  to  myself,  was  never  heard 
of  nor  seen  by  me  till  printed  in  Forster's  book  some 
thirty  years  after.  When  the  Drury  Lane  season  began, 
Macready  informed  me  that  he  should  act  the  play  when  he 
had  brought  out  two  others — "  The  Patrician's  Daughter," 
and  "  Plighted  Troth  : "  having  done  so,  he  wrote  to 
me  that  the  former  had  been  unsuccessful  in  money- 
drawing,  and  the  latter  had  "  smashed  his  arrangements 
altogether  : "  but  he  would  still  produce  my  play.  I  had — 
in  my  ignorance  of  certain  symptoms  better  understood  by 
Macready's  professional  acquaintances — I  had  no  notion 
that  it  wa|^HHfrper  thing,  in  such  a  case,  to  "  release  him 
from  his^^^^^"  on  the  contrary,  I  should  have  fancied 
that  suci^^^^^Eal  was  offensive.  Soon  after,  Macready 
begged  t^^^^^Ed  call  on  him  :  he  said  the  play  had  been 
read  to  tl|^^Hf  the  day  before,  "  and  laughed  at  from 
beginning  to  end  :  "  on  my  speaking  my  mind  about  this, 
he  explained  that  the  reading  had  been  done  by  the 
Prompter,  a  grotesque  person  with  a  red  nose  and  wooden 
leg,  ill  at  ease  in  the  love  scenes,  and  that  he  would  himself 
make  amends  by  reading  the  play  next  morning — which  he 
did,  and  very  adequately — but  apprised  me  that,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  state  of  his  mind,  harassed  by  business  and 


112  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1813 

various  trouble,  the  principal  character  must  be  taken  by 
Mr.  Phelps ;  and  again  I  failed  to  understand, — what 
Forster  subsequently  assured  me  was  plain  as  the  sun  at 
noonday, — that  to  allow  at  Macready's  Theatre  any  other 
than  Macready  to  play  the  principal  part  in  a  new  piece  was 
suicidal, — and  really  believed  I  was  meeting  his  exigencies 
by  accepting  the  substitution.  At  the  rehearsal,  Macready 
announced  that  Mr.  Phelps  was  ill,  and  that  he  himself 
would  read  the  part :  on  the  third  rehearsal,  Mr.  Phelps 
appeared  for  the  first  time,  and  sat  in  a  chair  while  Macready 
more  than  read,  rehearsed  the  part.  The  next  morning 
Mr.  Phelps  waylaid  me  at  the  stage-door  to  say,  with  much 
emotion,  that  it  never  was  intended  that  he  should  be 
instrumental  in  the  success  of  a  new  tragedy,  and  that 
Macready  would  play  Tresham  on  the  ground  that  himself, 
Phelps,  was  unable  to  do  so.  He  added  that  he  could  not 
expect  me  to  waive  such  an  advantage, — but  that,  if  I  were 
prepared  to  waive  it,  "  he  would  take  ether,  sit  up  all  night, 
and  have  the  words  in  his  memory  by  next  day."  I  bade 
him  follow  me  to  the  green-room,  and  hear  what  I  decided 
upon — which  was  that  as  Macready  had  given  him  the  part, 
he  should  keep  it :  this  was  on  a  Thursday ;  he  rehearsed 
on  Friday  and  Saturday, — the  play  being^^^  the  same 
evening, — of  the  fifth  day  after  the  "  readii^^^^^Lacreachj . 
Macready  at  once  wished  to  reduce  the  ^^^^Hpe  of  the 
"  play," — as  he  styled  it  in  the  bills, — tr^^^^K^e  out  so 
much  of  the  text,  that  I  baffled  him  by  gS|^HPprinted  in 
four-and-twenty  hours,  by  Moxon's  assistaM^^He  wanted 
me  to  call  it  "  The  Sister  "  ! — and  I  have  before  me,  while 
I  write,  the  stage-acting  copy,  with  two  lines  of  his  own 
insertion  to  avoid  the  tragical  ending — Tresham  was  to 
announce  his  intention  of  going  into  a  monastery  1  all  this, 
to  keep  up  the  belief  that  Macready,  and  Macready  alone, 
could  produce  a  veritable  "tragedy,"  unproduced  before. 


1843]  ROBERT   BROWNING  il3 

Not  a  shiiling  was  spent  on  scenery  or  dresses — and  a 
Btriking  scene  which  had  been  used  for  the  "  Patrician's 
Daughter,"  did  duty  a  second  time.  If  your  critic  considers 
this  treatment  of  the  play  an  instance  of  "  the  failure  of 
powerful  and  experienced  actors  "  to  ensure  its  success, — 1 
can  only  say  that  my  own  opinion  was  shown  by  at  once 
breaking  off  a  friendship  of  many  years — a  friendship  which 
had  a  right  to  be  plainly  and  simply  told  that  the  play  I 
had  contributed  as  a  proof  of  it  would,  through  a  change  of 
circumstances,  no  longer  be  to  my  friend's  advantage, — all 
I  could  possibly  care  for.  Only  recently,  when  by  the 
publication  of  Macready's  journals  the  extent  of  his 
pecuniary  embarrassments  at  that  time  was  made  known, 
could  I  in  a  measure  understand  his  motives  for  such  con- 
duct— and  less  than  ever  understand  why  he  so  strangely 
disguised  and  disfigured  them.  If  "  applause "  means 
success,  the  play  thus  maimed  and  maltreated  was  successful 
enough :  it  "  made  way  "  for  Macready's  own  Benefit,  and 
the  Theatre  closed  a  fortnight  after- 
Having  kept  silence  for  all  these  years,  in  spite  of 
repeated  explanations,  in  the  style  of  your  critic's,  that 
the  play  "failed  in  spite  of  the  best  endeavours,"  &c.,  I 
hardly  wish  jjt  revive  a  very  painful  matter  :  on  the  other 
hand, — as  I  fave  said  ;  my  play  subsists,  and  is  as  open  to 
praise  or  bkfl^as  it  was  forty-one  years  ago  :  is  it  neces- 
sary to  sear^^B)  what  somebody  or  other, — not  improbably 
a  jealous  aSBRnt  of  Macready,  "  the  only  organizer  of 
theatrical  victories,"  chose  to  say  on  the  subject  ?  If  the 
characters  are  "  abhorrent "  and  "  inscrutable  " — and  the 
language  conformable, — they  were  so  when  Dickens  pro- 
nounced upon  them,  and  will  be  so  whenever  the  critic 
pleases  to  re-consider  them — which,  if  he  ever  has  an 
opportunity  of  doing,  apart  from  the  printed  copy,  I  can 
assure  you  is  through  no  motion  of  mine.     This  particular 

I 


114  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1843 

experiemje  was  sufficient :  but  the  Play  is  out  of  my  power 
now ;  though  amateurs  and  actors  may  do  what  they 
please. 

Of  course,  this  being  the  true  story,  I  should  desire  that 
it  were  told  thus  and  no  otherwise,  if  it  must  be  told  at  all : 
but  not  as  a  statement  of  mine, — the  substance  of  it  has 
been  partly  stated  already  by  more  than  one  qualified 
person,  and  if  I  have  been  willing  to  let  the  poor  matter 
drop,  surely  there  is  no  need  that  it  should  be  gone  into 
now  when  Macready  and  his  Atheuasum  upholder  are  no 
longer  able  to  speak  for  themselves  :  this  is  just  a  word  to 
you,  dear  Mr.  Hill,  and  may  be  brought  under  the  notice 
of  your  critic  if  you  think  proper — but  only  for  the  facts — 
not  as  a  communication  for  the  public. 

Yes,  thank  you,  I  am  in  full  health,  as  you  wish — and 
I  wish  you  and  Mrs.  Hill,  I  assure  you,  all  the  good  appro- 
priate to  the  season.  My  sister  has  completely  recovered 
from  her  illness,  and  is  grateful  for  your  enquiries. 

With  best  regards  for  Mrs.  Hill,  and  an  apology  for 
this  long  letter,  which  however, — when  once  induced  to 
write  it, — I  could  not  well  shorten, — believe  me, 

Tours  truly  ever 

Robert  I^owxinq. 


I  well  remember  Mr.  Browning's  tellio^^^how,  when 
he  returned  to  the  green-room,  on  that^^^Eal  day,  he 
drove  his  hat  more  firmly  on  to  his  heS^and  said  to 
Macready,  "  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  but  you  have  given  the 
part  to  Mr.  Phelps,  and  I  am  satisfied  that  he  should 
act  it ; "  and  how  Macready,  on  hearing  this,  crushed  up 
the  MS.,  and  flung  it  on  to  the  ground.  He  also  admitted 
that  his  own  manner  had  been  provocative ;  but  he  was 
Indignant  at  what  he  deemed  the  unjust  treatment  which 


1843]  ROBERT  BROWNING  115 

Mr.  Phelps  had  received.    The  occasion  of  the  next  letter 
speaks  for  itself. 

December  21,  1884. 
My  dear  Mr.  Hill, — Your  goodness  must  extend  to 
letting  me  have  the  last  word — one  of  sincere  thanks. 
You  cannot  suppose  I  doubted  for  a  moment  of  a  good- 
will which  I  have  had  abundant  proof  of.  I  only  took 
the  occasion  your  considerate  letter  gave  me,  to  tell  the 
simple  truth  which  my  forty  years'  silence  is  a  sign  I  would 
only  tell  on  compulsion.  I  never  thought  your  critic  had 
any  less  generous  motive  for  alluding  to  the  performance 
as  he  did  than  that  which  he  professes  :  he  doubtless  heard 
the  account  of  the  matter  which  Macready  and  his  intimates 
gave  currency  to  at  the  time ;  and  which,  being  confined 
for  a  while  to  their  limited  number,  I  never  chose  to  notice. 
But  of  late  years  I  have  got  to  read, — not  merely  hear, — of 
the  play's  failure,  "  which  all  the  efforts  of  my  friend  the 
great  actor  could  not  avert ; "  and  the  nonsense  of  this  un- 
tnith  gets  hard  to  bear.  I  told  you  the  principal  facts  in 
the  letter  I  very  hastily  wrote  :  I  could,  had  it  been  worth 
while,  corroborate  them  by  others  in  plenty,  and  refer  to 
the  living  witnesses — Lady  Martin,  Mrs.  Stirling,  and  (I 
believe)  Mr*;  Anderson :  it  was  solely  through  the  admirable 
loyalty  of  Jjae  two  former  that  ...  a  play  .  .  ,  deprived 
of  every  ^■antage,  in  the  way  of  scenery,  dresses,  and 
rehear sing^Hroved — what  Macready  himself  declared  it  to 
be — "  a  complete  success."  So  he  sent  a  servant  to  tell  me, 
"  in  case  there  was  a  call  for  the  author  at  the  end  of  the 
act " — to  which  I  replied  that  the  author  had  been  too  sick 
and  sorry  at  the  whole  treatment  of  his  play  to  do  any 
such  thing.  Such  a  call  there  truly  ivas,  and  Mr.  Anderson 
had  to  come  forward  and  "  beg  the  author  to  come  forward 
if  he  were  in  the  house — a  circumstance  of  which  he  was 


116  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1843 

not  aware : "  whereat  the  author  laughed  at  him  from  a 
box  just  opposite.  ...  I  would  submit  to  anybody  drawing 
a  conclusion  from  one  or  two  facts  past  contradiction, 
whether  that  play  could  have  thoroughly  failed  which  waa 
not  only  not  withdrawn  at  once  but  acted  three  nights  in 
the  same  week,  and  years  afterwards,  reproduced  at  his  own 
theatre,  during  my  absence  in  Italy,  by  Mr.  Phelps — the 
person  most  completely  aware  of  the  untoward  circum- 
stances which  stood  originally  in  the  way  of  success.  Why 
not  enquire  how  it  happens  that,  this  second  time,  there 
was  no  doubt  of  the  play's  doing  as  well  as  plays  ordinarily 
do  ?  for  those  were  not  the  days  of  a  "run." 

.  .  .  This  "  last  word  "  has  indeed  been  an  Aristophanic 
one  of  fifty  syllables  :  but  I  have  spoken  it,  relieved  myself, 
and  commend  all  that  concerns  me  to  the  approved  and 
valued  friend  of  whom  I  am  proud  to  account  myself  in 
corresponding  friendship, 

His  truly  ever 

Egbert  Browning. 

Mr.  Browning  also  alludes  to  Mr.  Phelps's  acting  as  not 
only  not  having  been  detrimental  to  the  play,  but  having 
helped  to  save  it,  in  the  conspiracy  of  circumstances  which 
seemed  to  invoke  its  failure.  This  was  a  mifcke,  since 
Macready  had  been  anxious  to  resume  the  p^Hknd  would 
have  saved  it,  to  say  the  least,  more  thoroug]^^  It  must, 
however,  be  remembered  that  the  irritation  which  these 
letters  express  was  due  much  less  to  the  nature  of  the  facts 
recorded  in  them  than  to  the  manner  in  which  they  had 
been  brought  before  Mr.  Browning's  mind.  Writing  on 
the  subject  to  Lady  Martin  in  February  1881,  he  had 
spoken  very  temperately  of  Macready's  treatment  of  hia 


1843]  ROBERT  BROWNING  117 

play,  while  deprecating  the  injustice  towards  his  own 
friendship  which  its  want  of  frankness  involved  :  and 
many  years  before  this,  the  touch  of  a  common  sorrow 
had  caused  the  old  feeling,  at  least  momentarily,  to  well 
up  again.  The  two  met  for  the  first  time  after  these 
occurrenc3S  when  Mr.  Browning  had  returned,  a  widower, 
from  Italy.  Mr.  Macready,  too,  had  recently  lost  his  wife  ; 
and  Mr.  Browning  could  only  start  forward,  grasp  the  hand 
of  his  old  friend,  and  in  a  voice  choked  with  emotion  say, 
"  Oh,  Macready  I  " 

Lady  Martin  has  spoken  to  me  of  the  poet's  attitude  on 
the  occasion  of  this  performance  as  being  full  of  generous 
sympathy  for  those  who  were  working  with  him,  as  well  as 
of  the  natural  anxiety  of  a  young  author  for  his  own 
success.  She  also  remains  convinced  that  this  sympathy 
led  him  rather  to  over-  than  to  under-rate  the  support  he 
received.  She  wrote  concerning  it  in  Blackwood's  Magazine^ 
March  1881 : 

"  It  seems  but  yesterday  that  I  sat  by  his  [Mr.  Elton's] 
side  in  the  green-room  at  the  reading  of  Robert  Browning's 
beautiful  drama,  A  Blot  in  the  ^Scutcheon.  As  a  rule  Mr. 
Macready  always  read  the  new  plays.  But  owing,  I  suppose, 
to  some  press^pf  business,  the  task  was  entrusted  on  this 
occasion  to  the^  head  prompter, — a  clever  man  in  his  way, 
but  wholly  unfitted  to  bring  out,  or  even  to  understand, 
Mr.  Browning's  meaning.  Consequently,  the  delicate,  subtle 
lines  were  twisted,  perverted,  and  sometimes  even  made 
ridiculous  in  his  hands.  My  'cruel  father'  [Mr.  Elton] 
was  a  warm  admirer  of  the  poet.  He  sat  writhing  and 
indignant,  and  tried  by  gentle  asides  to  make  me  see  the 
real  meaning  of   the  vers*.      But  somehow  the   mischief 


118  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1813 

proved  irreparable,  for  a  few  of  the  actors  during  the 
rehearsals  chose  to  continue  to  misundcrKtand  the  text,  and 
never  took  the  interest  in  the  play  which  they  would  have 
done  had  Mr.  Macready  read  it." 

Looking  back  on  the  fiist  appearance  of  his  tragedy 
through  the  widening  perspectives  of  nearly  forty  years, 
Mr.  Browning  might  well  declare  as  he  did  in  the  letter  to 
Lady  Martin  to  which  I  have  just  referred,  that  her  '■^ perfect 
behaviour  as  a  woman  "  and  her  "  admirable  playing  as  an 
actress  "  had  been  (or  at  all  events  were)  to  him  "  the  one 
gratifying  circumstance  connected  with  it." 

He  also  felt  it  a  just  cause  of  bitterness  that  the  letter 
from  Charles  Dickens,^  which  conveyed  his  almost  passionate 
admiration  of  A  Blot  in  the  ^Scutcheon,  and  was  clearly 
written  to  Mr.  Forster  in  order  that  it  might  be  seen,  was 
withheld  for  thirty  years  from  his  knowledge,  and  that  of 
the  pubhc  whose  judgement  it  might  so  largely  have  in- 
fluenced. Nor  was  this  the  only  time  in  the  poet's  life  that 
fairly  earned  honours  escaped  him. 

Colombe's  Birthday/  was  produced  in  1853  at  the 
Haymarket,^  and  afterwards  in  the  provinces,  under  the 
direction  of  Miss  Helen  Faucit,  who  created  the  principal 
part.  It  was  again  performed  for  the  Browning  Society 
in  1885,^  and  although  Miss  Alma  Murra"  as  Colombo, 
was  almost  entirely  supported  by  amateurs,  the  result  fully 
justified  Miss  Mary  Robinson  (subsequently  Madame  James 

*  See  Forster's  Life  of  Dickens. 

*  Also  in  1853  or  1854  at  Boston.  [It  was  offered  to  Charles 
Keen,  who  was  anxious  to  produce  it.     See  Appendix  II.] 

*  It  had  been  played  by  amateurs,  members  of  the  Browning 
Bociety,  and  their  friends,  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Joseph  King,  in 
January  1882. 


1843]  ROBERT   BROWNING  119 

Darmesteter,  and  now  Madame  Duclaux)  in  writing  imme- 
diately afterwards  in  the  Boston  Literary  World :  ^ 

^^Colomhe's  Birthday  is  charming  on  the  boards,  clearer, 
more  direct  in  action,  more  full  of  delicate  surprises  than 
one  imagines  it  in  print.  "With  a  very  little  cutting  it  could 
be  made  an  excellent  acting  play." 

]\Ir.  Gosse  has  seen  a  first  edition  copy  of  it  marked  for 
acting,  and  alludes  in  his  Personalia  to  the  greatly  increased 
knowledge  of  the  stage  which  its  minute  directions  dis- 
played. They  told  also  of  sad  experience  in  the  sacrifice  of 
the  poet  which  the  play-writer  so  often  exacts  :  since  they 
included  the  proviso  that  unless  a  very  good  Yalence  could 
be  found,  a  certain  speech  of  his  should  be  left  out.  That 
speech  is  very  important  to  the  poetic,  and  not  less  to  the 
moral,  purpose  of  the  play  :  the  triumph  of  unworldly 
affections.  It  is  that  in  which  Yalence  defies  the  platitudes 
so  often  launched  against  rank  and  power,  and  shows  that 
these  may  be  very  beautiful  things — in  which  he  pleads  for 
his  rival,  and  against  his  own  heart.  He  is  the  better  man 
of  the  two,  and  Colombe  has  fallen  genuinely  in  love  with 
him.  But  the  instincts  of  sovereignty  are  not  outgrown  in 
one  day  however  eventful,  and  the  young  duchess  has  shown 
herself  amp*  endowed  with  them.  The  Prince's  offer 
promised  much,  and  it  held  still  more.  The  time  may 
come  when  she  will  need  that  crowning  memory  of  her 
husband's  unselfishness  and  truth,  not  to  regret  what  she 
has  done. 

King  Victor  and  King  Charles  and  The  Return  of  the 

'  December  12,  1885 :  quoted  in  Mr.  Arthur  Symons'  Introduo^ 
tion  to  the  Study  of  Browning. 


120  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [i844^ 

Druses  are  both  admitted  by  competent  judges  to  have 
good  qualifications  for  the  stage  ;  and  Mr,  Browning  would 
have  preferred  seeing  one  of  these  acted  to  witnessing  the 
revival  of  Strafford  or  A  Blot  in  the  ^Sculcheon,  from  neithjr 
of  which  the  best  amateur  performance  could  remove  the 
stigma  of  past,  real  or  reputed,  failure  ;  and  when  once  a 
friend  belonging  to  the  Browning  Society  told  him  she  had 
been  seriously  occupied  with  the  possibility  of  producing 
the  Eastern  play,  he  assented  to  the  idea  with  a  simplicity 
that  was  almost  touching,  "  It  was  written  for  the  stage," 
he  said,  "  and  has  only  one  scene."  He  knew,  however, 
that  the  single  scene  was  far  from  obviating  all  the 
difficulties  of  the  case,  and  that  the  Society,  with  its  limited 
means,  did  the  best  it  could. 

I  seldom  hear  any  allusion  to  a  passage  in  King  Victor 
and  King  Charles  which  I  think  more  than  rivals  the 
famous  utterance  of  Valence,  revealing  as  it  does  the  same 
grasp  of  non-conventional  truth,  while  its  occasion  lends 
itself  to  a  far  deeper  recognition  of  the  mystery,  the 
frequent  hopeless  dilemma  of  our  moral  life.  It  is  that  in 
which  Polixena,  the  wife  of  Charles,  entreats  him  for  dulg's 
sake  to  retain  the  crown,  though  he  will  earn,  by  so  doing, 
neither  the  credit  of  a  virtuous  deed  nor  the  snre,  persistent 
consciousness  of  having  performed  one. 

Two  of  the  Dramatic  Lyrics  had  appeared,  as  I  have 
Baid,  in  the  Monthly  Repository}  Six  of  those  included  in 
the  Dramatic  Romances  and  Lyrics  were  first  published  in 
Hood's  Magazine  from  June  1844  to  April  1845,  a  month 
before  Hood's  death.  These  poems  were,  The  Laboratory^ 
Claret  and  Tolcay,  Garden  Fancies,  The  Boy  and  the  Angela 
>  [Above,  pp.  61,  62.] 


1845-  ROBERT   BROWNING  121 

The  Tomb  at  St.  PraxecVs,  and  The  Flight  of  the  Duchess 
(sections  1-9).  Mr.  Hood's  health  had  given  way  under 
stress  of  work,  and  Mr.  Browning  with  other  friends  thus 
came  forward  to  help  him.  The  fact  deserves  remembering 
in  connection  with  his  subsequent  unbroken  rule  never 
to  write  for  magazines.  He  might  always  have  made 
exceptions  for  friendly  or  philanthropic  objects ;  the 
appearance  of  Serve  Riel  in  the  Cornhill  Magazine,  1871, 
indeed  proves  that  it  was  so.  But  the  offer  of  a  blank 
cheque  would  not  have  tempted  him,  for  his  own  sake,  to 
this  concession,  as  he  would  have  deemed  it,  of  his  integrity 
of  literary  purpose. 

In  a  Gondola  grew  out  of  a  single  verse  extemporized 
for  a  picture  by  Maclise,  in  what  circumstances  we  shall 
hear  in  the  poet's  own  words. 

The  first  proof  of  Artemis  Prologuizes  had  the  following 
note  : 

"  I  had  better  say  perhaps  that  the  above  is  nearly  all 
retained  of  a  tragedy  I  composed,  much  against  my 
endeavour,  while  in  bed  with  a  fever  two  years  ago — it 
went  further  into  the  story  of  Hippolytus  and  Aricia  ;  but 
when  I  got  well,  putting  only  thus  much  down  at  once,  I 
soon  forgot  the  remainder."  ^ 

Mr.  Browning  would  have  been  very  angry  with  himself 
if  he  had  known  he  ever  wrote  "  I  had  better ;  "  and  the 
punctuation  of  this  note,  as  well  as  of  every  other  unrevised 

'  When  Mr.  Browning  gave  me  these  supplementary  details  for 
the  Handbook,  he  spoke  as  if  his  illness  had  interrupted  the  work, 
not  preceded  its  conception.  The  real  fact  is,  I  think,  the  mora 
striking. 


122  LIl^   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1844 

specimen  which  we  possess  of  his  early  writing,  helps  to 
show  by  what  caref  nl  study  of  the  literary  art  he  must  have 
acquired  his  subsequent  mastery  of  it. 

Cristina  was  addressed  in  fancy  to  the  Spanish  queen. 
It  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  poem  did  not  remain  under 
its  original  heading  of  Queen  Worship :  as  this  gave  a 
practical  clue  to  the  nature  of  the  love  described,  and  the 
special  remoteness  of  its  object. 

The  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin  and  another  poem  were 
written  in  May  1842  for  Mr.  Macready's  little  eldest  son, 
"Willy,  who  was  confined  to  the  house  by  illness,  and  who 
was  to  amuse  himself  by  illustrating  the  poems  as  well  as 
reading  them  ;  ^  and  the  first  of  these,  though  not  intended 
for  publication,  was  added  to  the  Dramatic  Lyrics,  because 
some  columns  of  that  number  of  Bells  and  Pomegranates  still 
required  filling.  It  is  perhaps  not  known  that  the  second 
was  The  Cardinal  ayid  the  Dog,  now  included  in  Asolando. 

Mr.  Browning's  father  had  himself  begun  a  rhymed 
story  on  the  subject  of  The  Pied  Piper;  but  left  it 
unfinished  when  he  discovered  that  his  son  was  writing 
one.  The  fragment  survives  as  part  of  a  letter  addressed 
to  Mr.  Thomas  Powell,  which  I  have  refeiTcd  to  as  in  the 
possession  of  Mr.  Dykes  Campbell. 

The  Lost  Leader  has  given  rise  to  periodical  questionings 
continued  until  the  present  day,  as  to  the  person  indicated  in 
its  title.  Mr.  Browning  answered  or  anticipated  them  in  a 
letter  to  Miss  Lee,  of  West  Peckham,  Maidstone.  It  was  his 
reply  to  an  application  in  verse  made  to  him  in  their  very 

1  Miss  Browning  has  lately  found  some  of  the  illustrations,  and 
the  touching  childish  letter  together  with  which  her  brother  received 
them. 


1844]  ROBERT  BROWNING  123 

young  days  by  herself  and  two  other  members  of  her  family, 
the  manner  of  which  seems  to  have  unusually  pleased  him. 

Villers-sur-mer,  Calvados,  France :  September  7,  '75. 

Dear  Friends, — Your  letter  has  made  a  round  to  reach 
me — hence  the  delay  in  replying  to  it — which  you  will 
therefore  pardon.  I  have  been  asked  the  question  you  put 
to  me — tho'  never  asked  so  poetically  and  so  pleasantly — I 
suppose  a  score  of  times  :  and  I  can  only  answer,  with 
something^  of  shame  and  contrition,  that  I  undoubtedly  had 
"Wordsworth  in  my  mind — but  simply  as  "  a  model  ;  "  you 
know,  an  artist  takes  one  or  two  striking  traits  in  the 
features  of  his  "  model,"  and  uses  them  to  start  his  fancy 
on  a  flight  which  may  end  far  enough  from  the  good  man 
or  woman  who  happens  to  be  "  sitting  "  for  nose  and  eye. 

I  thought  of  the  great  Poet's  abandonment  of  liberalism, 
at  an  unluoky  juncture,  and  no  repaying  consequence  that 
I  could  ever  see.  But — once  call  my  fancy-portrait  Words- 
tcorth — and  how  much  more  ought  one  to  say, — how  much 
more  would  not  I  have  attempted  to  say  I 

There  is  my  apology,  dear  friends,  and  your  acceptance 
of  it  will  confirm  me 

Truly  yours, 

Robert  Beownestg. 

Some  fragments  of  correspondence,  not  all  very  in- 
teresting, and  his  own  allusion  to  an  attack  of  illness,  are 
our  only  record  of  the  poet's  general  life  during  the 
interval  which  separated  the  publication  of  Pippa  Passes 
from  his  second  Italian  journey.-^ 

1  [The  gap  is  partly  filled  by  some  of  the  letters  to  Domett. 
They  contain  no  very  important  incident,  but  there  is  an  interesting 
expression  of  poetic  faith  in  a  letter  of  July  13,  1846,  at  the  con- 
clusion of  the  Bells  and  Pomegranates  series.] 


124  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1841^ 

An  undated  letter  to  Miss  Haworth  probably  refers  to 
the  close  of  1841. 

"...  I  am  getting  to  love  painting  as  I  did  once. 
Do  you  know  I  was  a  young  wonder  (as  are  eleven  out 
of  the  dozen  of  us)  at  drawing  ?  My  father  had  faith  in 
me,  and  over  yonder  in  a  drawer  of  mine  lies,  I  well  know, 
a  certain  cottage  and  rocks  in  lead  pencil  and  black  currant 
jam-juice  (paint  being  rank  poison,  as  they  said  when  I 
sucked  my  brushes)  with  his  (my  father's)  note  in  one 
corner,  '  E.  B.,  getat.  two  years  three  months.'  'How 
fast,  alas,  our  days  we  spend — How  vain  they  be,  how  soon 
they  end  I '  I  am  going  to  print  '  "Victor,'  however,  by 
February,  and  there  is  one  thing  not  so  badly  painted  in 
there — oh,  let  me  tell  you.  I  chanced  to  call  on  Forster 
the  other  day,  and  he  pressed  me  into  committing  verse 
on  the  instant,  not  the  minute,  in  Maclise's  behalf,  who 
has  wrought  a  divine  Venetian  work,  it  seems,  for  the 
British  Institution.  Forster  described  it  well — but  I  could 
do  nothing  better,  than  this  wooden  ware — (all  the  '  pro- 
perties,' as  we  say,  were  given,  and  the  problem  was  how 
to  catalogue  them  in  rhyme  and  unreason). 

I  send  my  heart  up  to  thee,  all  my  heart 

In  this  my  singing ! 
For  the  stars  help  me,  and  the  sea  bears  part ; 

The  very  night  is  clinging 
Closer  to  Venice'  streets  to  leave  me  space 

Above  me,  whence  thy  face 
May  light  my  joyous  heart  to  thee  its  dwelling-place. 

Singing  and  stars  and  night  and  Venice  streets  and 
joyous  heart,  are  properties,  do  you  please  to  see.  And 
now  tell  me,  is  this  below  the  average  of  catalogue  original 
poetry  ?    Tell  me — for  to  that  end  of  being  told,  I  write.  .  ,  , 


1845]  ROBERT  BROWNING  125 

I  dinod  with  dear  Carlyle  and  his  wife  (catch  me  calling 
people  '  dear '  in  a  hurry,  except  in  letter-beginnings  !) 
yesterday.  I  don't  know  any  people  like  them.  There 
was  a  son  of  Burns  there,  Major  Burns  whom  Macready 
knows — he  sung  '  Of  all  the  airts,'  '  John  Anderson,' 
and  another  song  of  his  father's.  ..." 

In  the  course  of  1842  he  wrote  the  following  note  to 
Miss  Flower,  evidently  relating  to  the  publication  of  her 
Hymns  and  Anthems. 

New  Cross,  Hatcham,  Surrey  :  Tuesday  morning. 

Dear  Miss  Flower, — I  am  sorry  for  what  must  grieve 
Mr,  Fox  ;  for  myself,  I  beg  him  earnestly  not  to  see  me 
till  his  entire  convenience,  however  pleased  I  shall  be  to 
receive  the  letter  you  promise  on  his  part. 

And  how  can  I  thank  you  enough  for  this  good  news 
— all  this  music  I  shall  be  so  thoroughly  gratified  to  hear  ? 
Ever  yours  faithfully, 

Robert  Beowxixg. 

His  last  letter  to  her  was  written  in  1845  ;  the  subject 
being  a  concert  of  her  own  sacred  music  which  she  was 
about  to  give ;  and  again,  although  more  slightly,  I  anti- 
cipate the  course  of  events,  in  order  to  give  it  in  its 
natural  connection  with  the  present  one.  Mr.  Browning 
was  now  engaged  to  be  married,  and  the  last  ring  of 
youthful  levity  had  disappeared  from  his  tone  ;  but  neither 
the  new  happiness  nor  the  new  responsibility  had  weakened 
his  interest  in  his  boyhood's  friend.  Miss  Flower  must  then 
have  been  slowly  dying,  and  the  closing  words  of  the  letter 
have  the  solemnity  of  a  last  farewell. 


126  LIFE  AND   LETTERS   OF  [1844 

Sunday. 

Dear  Miss  Flower, — I  was  very  foolishly  surprized  at 
the  sorrowful  finical  notice  you  mention  :  foolishly ;  for, 
God  help  us,  how  else  is  it  with  all  critics  of  everything — 
don't  I  hear  them  talk  and  see  them  write  ?  I  dare-say 
he  admires  you  as  he  said. 

For  me,  I  never  had  another  feeling  than  entire  admira- 
tion for  your  music — entire  admiration — I  put  it  apart 
from  all  other  English  music  I  know,  and  fully  believe 
in  it  as  the  music  we  all  waited  for. 

Of  your  health  I  shall  not  trust  myself  to  speak :  you 
must  know  what  is  unspoken.  I  should  have  been  most 
happy  to  see  you  if  but  for  a  minute — and  if  next  Wednes- 
day, I  might  take  your  hand  for  a  moment. — 

But  you  would  concede  that,  if  it  were  right,  remember- 
ing what  is  now  very  old  friendship. 

May  God  bless  you  for  ever 

(The  signature  has  been  cut  off.) 

In  the  autumn  of  1844  Mr.  Browning  set  forth  for 
Italy,  taking  ship  direct  to  Naples.^  Here  he  made  the 
acquaintance  of  a  young  Neapolitan  gentleman  who  had 
spent  most  of  his  life  in  Paris  ;  and  they  became  such 
good  friends  that  they  proceeded  to  Rome  together.  Mr. 
Scotti  was  an  invaluable  travelling  companion,  for  he 
engaged  their  conveyance,  and  did  all  such  bargaining  in 
their  joint  interest  as  the  habits  of  his  country  required. 
"  As  I  write,"  Mr.  Browning  said  in  a  letter  to  his  sister, 
*'  I  hear  him  disputing  our  bill  in  the  next  room.     He 

1  [This  visit,  which  included  Rome  as  well  as  Naples,  is  briefly 
mentioned  in  his  letter  to  Domett  of  February  23,  1845  {R.  B.  and 
A.  D.,  p.  109).  He  left  England  apparently  in  August  or  September, 
and  returned  in  December.] 


1844]  ROBERT  BROWNING  127 

does  not  see  why  we  should  pay  for  six  was  candles  when 
we  have  used  only  two."  At  Rome  they  spent  most  of 
their  evenings  with  an  old  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Browning's, 
then  Countess  Carducci,  and  she  pronounced  Mr.  Scotti 
the  handsomest  man  she  had  ever  seen.  He  certainly  bore 
no  appearance  of  being  the  least  prosperous.  But  he  blew 
out  his  brains  soon  after  he  and  his  new  friend  had  parted  ; 
and  I  do  not  think  the  act  was  ever  fully  accounted  for. 

It  must  have  been  on  his  return  journey  that  Mr. 
Browning  went  to  Leghorn  to  see  E  J  ward  John  Trelawny, 
to  whom  he  carried  a  letter  of  introduction.  He  described 
the  interview  long  afterwards  to  Mr.  Val  Prinsep,  but 
chiefly  in  his  impressions  of  the  cool  courage  which  Mr. 
Trelawny  had  displayed  during  its  course.  A  surgeon  was 
occupied  all  the  time  in  probing  his  leg  for  a  bullet  which 
had  been  lodged  there  some  years  before,  and  had  lately 
made  itself  felt ;  and  he  showed  himself  absolutely  in- 
different to  the  pain  of  the  operation.  Mr.  Browning's 
main  object  in  paying  the  visit  had  been,  naturally,  to 
speak  with  one  who  had  known  Byron  and  been  the  last  to 
see  Shelley  alive  ;  but  we  only  hear  of  the  two  poets  that 
they  formed  in  part  the  subject  of  their  conversation.  He 
reached  England,  again,  we  suppose,  through  Germany — 
since  he  avoided  Paris  as  before. 

It  has  been  asserted  by  persons  otherwise  well  informed, 
that  on  this,  if  not  on  his  previous  Italian  journey,  Mr. 
Browning  became  acquainted  with  Stendhal,  then  French 
Consul  at  Civita  Yecchia,  and  that  he  imbibed  from  the  great 
novelist  a  taste  for  curiosities  of  ItaUan  family  history, 
which  ultimately  led  him  in  the  direction  of  the  Frances- 
chini  case.     It  is  certain  that  he  profoundly  admired  this 


128  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  11844 

writer,  and  if  he  was  not,  at  some  time  or  other,  intro- 
duced to  him  it  was  because  the  opportunity  did  not  occur. 
But  there  is  abundant  evidence  that  no  introduction  took 
place,  and  quite  sufficient  proof  that  none  was  possible. 
Stendhal  died  in  Paris  in  March  1842  ;  and  granting  that 
he  was  at  Civita  Vecchia  when  the  poet  made  bis  earlier 
voyage — no  certainty  even  while  he  held  the  appointment — ■ 
the  ship  cannot  have  touched  there  on  its  way  to  Trieste. 
It  is  also  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  Mr.  Browning  was 
specially  interested  in  ancient  chronicles,  as  such.  This 
was  one  of  the  points  on  which  he  distinctly  differed  from 
his  father.  He  took  his  dramatic  subjects  wherever  he 
found  them,  and  any  historical  research  which  they  ulti- 
mately involved  was  undertaken  for  purposes  of  verifica- 
tion. SordeJJo  alone  may  have  been  conceived  on  a  rathei 
different  plan,  and  I  have  no  authority  whatever  foi 
admitting  that  it  was  so.  The  discovery  of  the  record  oi 
the  Franceschini  case  was,  as  its  author  has  everywhere 
declared,  an  accident. 

A  single  relic  exists  for  us  of  this  visit  to  the  South — ji 
shell  picked  up,  according  to  its  inscription,  on  one  of  the 
Syren  Isles,  October  4, 1844  ;  but  many  of  its  reminiscences, 
are  embodied  iu  that  vivid  and  charming  picture  27ie 
Englishman  in  Italij,  which  appeared  in  the  Bells  and 
Pomegranates  number  for  the  following  year.  Naples 
always  remained  a  bright  spot  in  the  poet's  memory  ;  and 
if  it  had  been,  like  Asolo,  his  first  experience  of  Italy,  it 
must  have  drawn  him  in  later  years  the  more  powerfully  of 
the  two.  At  one  period,  indeed,  he  dreamed  of  it  as  a 
home  for  his  declining  daya. 


ROBERT   BROWNING  129 


CHAPTER  IX 

1844-1846 

Iiilrofluction  to  Miss  Barrett — Interviews  and  Ccrrespcndence  — 
Miss  Barrett's  Life— Engagement — Motives  for  Secrecy — 
Marriage — Journey  to  Italy — Extract  of  Letter  from  Mr.  Fox. 

During  his  recent  interconrse  with  the  Browning  family 
Mr.  Kenyon  had  often  spoken  of  his  invalid  cousin,  Eliza- 
beth Barrett,^  and  had  given  them  copies  of  her  works  ; 
and  when  the  poet  returned  to  England,  late  in  1844,  he 
saw  the  volume  containing  Lady  Geraldine's  Courtship^ 
which  had  appeared  in  the  previous  August,  and  had  been 
sent  by  Mr,  Kenyon  to  his  sister.  Moved  by  the  honour- 
able mention  of  his  name  in  that  poem,  he  expressed  his 
natural  gratitude  to  Mr.  Kenyon,  and  was  encouraged  by 
him  to  write  to  Miss  Barrett,  and  himself  tell  her  how  the 
poems  had  impressed  him  ;  "  for,"  he  added,  "  my  cousin 
is  a  great  invalid,  and  sees  no  one,  but  great  souls  jump  at 
sympathy."  Mr.  Browning  did  write  (his  first  letter  is 
dated  January  10, 1845),  in  terms  of  enthusiastic  admiration 
and  gratitade,^  and  in  return  was  promised  permission  to 

'  Properly  E.  Barrett  Moulton-Barrett.  The  first  of  these  sur- 
names was  that  originally  borne  by  the  family,  but  dropped  on  the 
annexation  of  the  second.     It  has  now  for  some  years  been  resumed. 

*  [For  his  own  account  of  the  beginning  of  the  correspondence 
iee  LQtten  of  B.  B.  and  E.  B.  B.,  i.  281.] 

K 


130  LIFE    AND   LETTERS   OF  [1845 

visit  her  so  soon  as  the  arrival  of  warmer  weather  should 
have  restored  to  her  such  measure  of  strength  as  the  English 
cUmate  ever  allowed  her  to  attain.  As  the  time  drew  near 
Miss  Barrett  warned  him  to  prepare  himself  for  disillusion- 
ment in  words  of  touching  humility  and  resignation : 
"There  is  nothing  to  see  in  me,  nor  to  hear  in  me.  If 
my  poetiy  is  worth  anything  to  any  eye,  it  is  the  flower 
of  me  ;  .  .  .  the  rest  of  me  is  nothing  but  a  root,  fit  for 
the  ground  and  the  darkness."  *  But  she  did  not  refuse  to 
see  the  poet,  who  had  already  become  her  friend  by  corre- 
spondence, and  their  first  interview  sealed  Mr.  Browning's 
fate. 

This  first  visit  took  place  on  May  20,  and  the  atmo- 
sphere proved  itself  from  the  first  charged  with  electricity. 
The  natural  affinity,  which  the  sixteen  succeeding  years 
were  so  triumphantly  to  demonstrate  and  to  glorify,  had 
made  itself  felt  even  through  the  intercourse  of  letters,  and 
Browning  at  least  went  to  the  encounter  fully  prepared  to 
worship  the  poetess  whom  he  was  to  meet.  That  first 
conversation  was  spark  enough  to  precipitate  the  tempest, 
and  two  days  afterwards  Browning  wrote  a  letter  which 
nearly  brought  the  acquaintance  to  an  abrupt  end.  Miss 
Barrett,  sensitively  conscious  of  the  disadvantages  due  to 
long-continued  ill-health  and  seclusion  from  society,  recoiled 
instinctively  before  an  outburst  which  she  ascribed  to  the 
excessive  generosity  of  an  ardent  and  poetic  spirit.  Brown- 
ing, in  contrition  and  alarm,  disavowed  the  offending 
epistle  with  even  excessive  zeal,  and  in  a  cloud  of  mutual 
apologies  the  interchange  of  letters  and  visits  continued  to 
take  its  course. 

>  [Letters  of  E.  B.  and  E.  B.  B.,  i.  68.] 


1845]  ROBERT  BROWNING  131 

The  situation  was,  indeed,  in  many  respects  difficult 
and  abnormal.  Elizabeth  Barrett,  born  in  1806,  at  Coxhoe, 
in  Durham,  was  six  years  older  than  Robert  Browning. 
An  accident  at  the  age  of  fifteen  had  seriously  affected  her 
health,  and  when,  in  1835,  her  father  brought  tlie  family 
to  live  in  London,  it  broke  down  altogether,  and  she  was 
obliged  to  lead  the  life  of  an  invalid.  In  1838  the  rupture 
of  a  blood-vessel  brought  on  a  serious  crisis,  and  she  was 
ordered  to  Torquay,  where  she  remained  for  the  next  three 
years.  Here,  in  July,  1840,  occurred  the  terrible  catas- 
trophe which  for  a  time  wrecked  and  nearly  destroyed  her 
life,  and  of  which  she  could  hardly  bring  herself  ever 
afterwards  to  speak — the  death  of  her  favourite  brother 
Edward,  who  was  drowned  in  a  boating  expedition.  He 
had  remained  at  Torquay  at  her  special  entreaty,  against 
the  wishes  of  her  father,  and  she  felb  herself  thereby  the 
cause  of  the  death  of  the  being  whom  she  loved  most 
deeply  and  most  dearly  on  earth.  This  shock,  striking 
upon  her  enfeebled  constitution,  was  nearly  fatal.  In  the 
following  winter  she  was  believed  to  be  on  the  verge  of 
death ;  but  with  the  spring  a  modicum  of  health  revived 
in  her,  and  in  the  summer  she  returned  to  London,  and 
her  father's  house  (50,  Wimpole  Street)  became  her  home 
again.  Here  she  was  living  when  Browning  made  her 
acquaintance,  rarely  leaving  the  upstairs  room  which  waa 
reserved  for  her,  and  busying  herself  with  literature,  with 
correspondence,  and  occasional  visits  from  a  very  few 
friends,  of  whom  W\ss  M.  R.  Mitford  (authoress  of  Our 
Village)  and  Mr.  John  Kenyon  were  the  chief.  She  was 
extraordinarily  well  read,  especially  in  Greek  literature  of 
all  kinds  (in  which  Mr.  H.  S.  Boyd  had  be^n  her  guide). 


132  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [I84c 

and  in  English ;  and  from  a  very  early  age  she  had  both 
written  and  published  poetry.  Her  immature  works  in- 
cluded an  epic  on  the  Battle  of  Marathon  (1819),  "An 
Essay  on  Mind  and  other  Poems"  (182G),  and  her  first 
translation  of  Aeschylus'  Prometheus  (1833).  In  1838  she 
published  "  The  Seraphim  and  other  Poems,"  which  was  a 
performance  of  quite  a  different  stamp,  and  brought  her  at 
once  into  some  notice  in  literary  circles.  Illness  and  the 
catastrophe  of  Torquay  caused  a  long  delay  in  her  poetic 
production ;  but  the  two  volumes  of  "  Poems "  published 
in  1814  (already  referred  to  as  the  occasion  for  the  opening 
of  her  correspondence  with  Robert  Browning)  gave  her  an 
assured  place  in  the  front  rank  of  English  poet?  then  living. 
In  the  eyes  of  her  family  and  all  her  friends,  and  even  of 
herself,  she  was,  as  it  were,  a  secluded  being,  set  apart  from 
the  ordinary  current  of  life,  devoted  to  the  cultivation 
and  practice  of  literature,  but  never  likely  (however  long 
her  life  might  last)  to  change  the  darkened  room  of  the 
valetudinarian  for  the  light  and  movement  of  the  outside 
.world. 

The  even  course  of  this  life, — outwardly  placid,  physi- 
cally man-ed  with  weakness,  intellectually  and  spiritually 
bright,  vivid,  and  noble — was  shaken  to  its  foundations  by 
the  advent  of  Ptobert  Browning.  The  story  of  the  friend- 
ship, which  ripened  so  rapidly  into  love,  has  been  made 
the  common  property  of  the  world  through  the  publication 
of  the  letters  which  passed  between  them  during  the 
twenty  months  from  the  time  when  Browning  wrote  his 
first  letter  of  thanks  for  the  compliment  paid  to  him  in 
Ladij  GeraJdine's  CourUMi^  to  the  day  on  which  they  lef* 
London  together  for  Italy,  never  to  be  parted  again  while 


1845]  ROBERT  BROWNING  V6S 

life  should  last.  Few  correspondences  equally  intimate 
have  been  given  to  the  world  ;  none,  of  which  it  can  be 
said  that  it  redounds  so  wholly  to  the  honour  of  both  the 
parties  to  it.  The  world  would  have  been  the  poorer  if  it 
had  been  deprived  of  this  signal  example  of  the  elevation 
and  nobility  of  which  human  nature  is  capable  ;  and  a  publi- 
cation, which  was  needful  in  order  to  dissipate  erroneous 
versions  of  the  story,  is  seen  to  be  not  merely  justifiable 
but  inevitable.  Mr.  R.  Barrett  Browning,  in  exercising 
the  discretion  which  his  father  by  implication  left  to  him, 
followed  the  example  which  his  father  had  himself  set  when 
he  caused  the  "  Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese "  to  be 
printed  ;  and  the  justification  is  the  same  in  both  cases. 
Browning  held  that  he  had  no  right  to  deprive  the  world 
of  the  finest  sonnets  since  Shakespeare's  ;  and  the  letters, 
if  not  the  finest  letters  from  the  literary  point  of  view,  are 
yet  unrivalled  as  a  revelation  of  beauty  of  soul  and  nobility 
of  character. 

The  "  Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese "  are  the  spiritual 
and  poetical  quintessence,  from  the  point  of  view  of  one  of 
the  two  parties  to  the  correspondence,  of  the  friendship 
and  the  growing  love,  which  resulted  in  the  most 
perfect  partnership  recorded  in  literary  history.  The 
correspondence  gives  the  full  record  of  it  from  day  to  day, 
save  for  the  personal  interviews  which  punctuated  it  at 
ever-shortening  intervals.  It  is  summarized  in  the  admir- 
able letter  which  Mrs.  Browning,  six  weeks  after  her 
marriage,  wrote  to  her  old  friend  Mrs.  Martin.^  For 
Bome  weeks  Browning  loyally  abstained  from  any  reference 
to  the  forbidden  subject ;  but  the  depth  and  sincerity  of 
*  Letters  of  E,  B.  Browning,  i.  286  fi. 


134i  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1845 

his  feelings  were  unmlstakeable,  and  before  long  Misg 
Barrett  realized  that  silence  was  not  less  dangerous  than 
speech.  She  assured  him — with  all  the  more  fervour 
because  her  heart  was  already  enlisted  on  his  side,  and 
considered  what  she  believed  to  be  his  true  interests  rather 
than  her  own — that  he  was  emptying  his  water-gourds  into 
the  sand,  that  the  flower  of  her  life  was  past,  that  her 
health  forbad  all  thoughts  of  normal  life  and  would  make_ 
her  nothins:  but  a  burden  to  him. 


"  What  hast  thou  to  do 
With  looking  from  the  lattice-lights  at  me, 
A  poor,  tired,  wandering  singer,  singing  through 
The  dark,  and  leaning  up  a  cypress  tree  ? 
The  chrism  is  on  thine  head — on  mine,  the  dew,— 
And  Death  must  dig  the  level  where  these  agree." 

To  all  this — the  pleading  of  a  heart  against  itself — 
Browning's  answer  was  simple.  It  might  be  true  or  not, 
but  in  any  case  his  lot  was  cast.  His  love  was  given,  wholly 
and  irrevocably,  irrespective  of  any  return.  He  had  looked 
into  his  own  life,  knew  its  requirements  and  its  aims,  and 
was  certain  of  being  under  no  delusion  when  he  recognized 
in  this  love,  which  had  so  strangely  and  so  irresistibly  come 
into  it,  the  supreme  happiness  and  the  highest  good  to 
which  he  could  aspire.  As  to  her  health,  he  had  long 
believed  her  to  be  more  hopelessly  crippled  than  was  actually 
the  case.  She  might  accept  his  love  or  repel  it,  but  she 
could  not  change  it,  and  he  would  wait,  without  teasing  or 
importuning  her,  as  long  as  life  should  last,  if  she  so 
desired.  It  was  useless  to  disguise  the  situation  any  longer. 
The  fact  of  the  love  on  the  one  side  could  not  hut  be 
admitted,  and  although  Miss  Barrett  still  struggled  for  a 


18457  ROBERT   BROWNING  135 

time  to  refuse  the  gift  wliich  she  believed  she  could  not 


accept  without  injury  to  the  giver,  her  truth  and  honesty 
could  not  conceal  the  feelings  of  her  heart. 

"  Henceforward,"  she  wrote  on  September  27, "  I  am  yours 
for  everything  but  to  do  yoa  harm.  ...  A  promise  goes 
to  you  that  none,  except  God  and  your  will,  shall  interpose 
between  you  and  me — I  mean,  that  if  He  should  free  me 
within  a  moderate  time  from  the  trailing  chain  of  this 
weakness,  I  will  then  be  to  you  whatever  at  that  hour  you 
shall  choose — whether  friend  or  more  than  friend — a  friend 
to  the  last  in  any  case.  So  it  rests  with  God  and  witE" 
you— only  in  the  meanwhile  you  are  most  absolutely  free — 
'  uneutangled  '  (as  they  call  it)  by  the  breadth  of  a  thread  ; 
and  if  I  did  not  know  that  you  considered  yourself  so,  I  would 
not  see  you  any  more,  let  the  effort  cost  me  what  it  might." 

*'It  rests  with  God  and  with  you";  and  God's 
providence  brought  the  solution  of  a  problem  which  to 
human  eyes  was  extraordinarily  difficult  and  complicated. 
Miss  Barrett's  health  was  not  the  only  obstacle  to  the 
ordinary  solution  of  marriage.  Another  lay  in  the  character 
of  her  father.  Mr.  Barrett  had  extreme  ideas  on  the  subject 
of  paternal  authority  and  the  duty  of  filial  submission,  and 
resented  with  a  determination  which  amounted  to  mono- 
mania any  act  which  would  seem  to  give  any  of  his  children 
an  independent  status.  Some  years  previously,  one  of  the 
younger  daughters,  Henrietta,  had  asked  his  consent  to  her 
engagement,  and  not  only  was  that  consent  refused,  but 
she  was  punished  for  presuming  to  think  of  such  a  thing 
by  a  series  of  violent  scenes  which  culminated  in  hysterics 
on  the  part  of  Henrietta,  and  a  fainting  fit  on  that  of 
Elizabeth.     At  the  present  time  she  was  again  engaged, 


136  LIFE   AND  LETTERS  OF  [1845 

but  it  was  well  understood  in  the  family  that  it  would  be 
hopeless  to  mention  the  subject  to  Mr.  Barrett.  Such  being 
the  case  when  no  obvious  objection,  on  grounds  of  health 
or  eligibility,  existed  on  either  side,  what  hope  was  there 
that  greater  liberty  would  be  extended  to  the  invalid  elder 
daughter  ?  Elizabeth  Barrett — whose  sanity  of  judgement 
was  one  of  her  most  remarkable  characteristics — realized  the 
hopelessness  of  the  situation  from  the  first ;  and  her  sisters, 
when  they  learnt  how  matters  stood  between  her  and  her 
poet-friend,  realized  it  no  less.  The  visits  might  increase 
from  once  a  fortnight  to  once  a  week,  and  to  thrice  a 
fortnight,  the  letters  might  multiply  till  they  became  a 
daily  exchange,  and  Mr.  Barrett,  with  his  regular  absence 
from  home  in  the  daytime,  and  the  aloofness  which  he 
cultivated  with  regard  to  the  daily  life  and  interests  of  his 
children,  remained  in  peaceful  ignorance  of  the  growth  of 
the  intercourse,  and  wholly  unsuspicious  of  its  nature.  He 
was  aware  that  Mr.  Browning  was  a  frequent  visitor,  and 
made  no  objection  ;  but  the  way  to  further  progress  seemed 
firmly  barred. 

At  this  point,  however,  an  incident  occurred  which 
opened  Miss  Barrett's  eyes  to  her  father's  character,  and 
emboldened  her  to  decisive  action.  In  the  summer  of  1845 
her  doctor  recommended  her  to  leave  England  for  the 
winter.  A  brother  and  a  sister  could  go  with  her  ;  Pisa 
was  proposed  as  the  place  ;  and  it  seemed  fairly  settled  that 
this  chance  of  health  should  be  taken.  At  this  point  Mr. 
Barrett  interposed  his  veto — a  veto  all  the  more  intolerable 
because  no  reason  was  given  for  it,  and  because  it  took  the 
form,  not  so  much  of  a  veto  as  of  an  expression  of  extreme 
displeasure  if  the  scheme  was  carried  out. 


1845]  ROBERT   BROWNING  J  37 

"  He  complained  of  the  undutifulness  and  rebellion  (!!!) 
of  every  one  in  the  house,  and  when  I  asked  if  he  meant 
that  reproach  for  me,  the  answer  was  that  he  meant  it  for 
all  of  us,  one  with  another.  And  I  could  not  get  an 
answer.  He  would  not  even  grant  me  the  consolation  of 
thinking  that  I  sacrificed  what  I  supposed  to  be  good,  to 
him.  I  told  him  that  my  prospects  of  health  seemed  to  me 
to  depend  on  taking  this  step,  but  that  through  my  affection 
for  him  I  was  ready  to  sacrifice  those  to  his  pleasure  if  he 
exacted  it — only  it  was  necessary  to  my  self-satisfaction  in 
future  years  to  understand  definitely  that  the  sacrifice  was 
exacted  by  him  and  teas  made  to  him,  and  not  thrown  away 
blindly  and  by  a  misapprehension.  And  he  would  not  answer 
that.  I  might  go  my  own  way,  he  said — he  would  not  speak 
— he  would  not  say  that  he  was  not  displeased  with  me,  nor 
the  contrary  ;  I  had  better  do  what  I  liked  ;  for  his  part, 
he  washed  his  hands  of  me  altogether." 

Had  Miss  Barrett  been  able  to  go  by  herself,  it  is  not 
inconceivable  that  she  might  have  nerved  herself  for  the 
undertaking ;  for  she  had  courage  far  in  excess  of  her 
strength,  and  she  had  a  small  ind^-pundent  competence  to 
live  on.  But  it  was  abundantly  clear  that  she  could  not 
take  a  brother  or  sister  with  her  without  involving  them  in 
very  serious  difficulties.  Very  reluctantly — since  now  she 
realized  what  life  might  mean  for  her  if  health  were 
restored — she  abandoned  the  project,  and  resigned  herstlf 
to  the  risk  of  another  winter  in  the  English  climate.  The 
one  thing  gained — if  it  is  to  be  called  a  gain — was  the 
knowledge  that  her  father  cared  nothing  for  her  health  in 
comparison  with  his  own  autocracy  ;  and  she  felt  fully 
justified  in  promising  that  if  (contrary  to  all  expectation 
and  previous   experience)   she   should  come  through   the 


138  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1846 

winter  without  serious  illness,  she  would  place  her  future  in 
the  hands  of  her  lover.  On  this  understanding  the  letters 
r.nd  the  visits  continued.  The  winter  was  unusually  mild. 
The  new  desire  of  life  no  doubt  increased  her  vitality  ;  and 
the  spring  of  1846  was  reached  in  safety. 

"  "We  talk  of  the  mild  weather  doing  me  good,"  she 
writes  at  the  beginning  of  May — "  of  the  sun  doing  me 
good — of  going  into  the  air  as  a  means  of  good.  Have  you 
done  me  no  good,  do  you  fancy,  in  loving  me  and  lifting  me 
up  ?  Has  the  unaccustomed  divine  love  and  tenderness 
been  nothing  to  me  ?  Think  1  Mrs.  Jameson  says  earnestly 
— said  to  me  the  other  day — that '  love  was  only  magnetism.' 
And  I  say  in  my  heart,  that,  magnet  or  no  magnet,  I  have 
been  drawn  back  inio  life  by  your  means  and  for  you." 

A  week  later  she  was  driving,  and  even  walking,  in 
Regent's  Park,  and  such  exercises  followci  when  the 
weather  was  favourable  throughout  the  summer,  including 
even  an  expedition  with  Mr.  Kenyon  to  see  the  novel  sight 
of  the  arrival  of  the  Great  Western  train.  By  this  time  it 
was  well  understood  that  at  the  summer's  end  the  decisive 
step  should  be  taken.  The  sisters  knew  in  general  of  the 
intention,  but  were  not  informed  as  to  details,  lest  they 
should  be  involved  in  the  inevitable  storm.  No  one  else 
was  admitted  to  the  secret  at  all — not  even  intimate  friends 
such  as  Mr.  Kenyon  or  Mrs.  Jamer;on.  The  necessity  for 
concealment  led,  however,  to  continually  increasing  embar- 
rassment. The  ice  was  indeed  getting  thin  in  various 
directions,  and  it  is  in  a  shower  of  perpetual  alarms 
and  suspicions  and  conjectures  that  the  correspond- 
ence comes  to  its  end.     On  the  morning  of  September 


1846]  ROBERT   BROWNING  139 

12,  Miss  Barrett,  accompanied  only  by  her  maid, 
Wilson,  left  her  home  and  was  married  to  Robert 
Browning  at  Marylebone  Church.  After  the  ceremony  she 
rested  at  Mr.  Boyd's  house,  drove  with  her  sisters  to 
Hampstead,  and  returned  home.  Mr.  Barrett,  however, 
had  just  issued  an  edict  that  the  family  was  to  leave  London 
for  a  time,  and  further  delay  was  therefore  impossible.  Just 
a  week  later,  on  September  19,  Mrs.  Browning  (as  she 
must  henceforth  be  called)  passed  the  threshold  of  her 
father's  house  for  the  last  time,  joined  her  husband,  and 
crossed  the  Channel  to  Havre,  en  route  for  Paris.  She  was 
accompanied  only  by  her  maid  and  dog,  the  faithful 
"  Flush  "  ;  and  until  she  had  gone,  none  of  her  family  was 
given  any  hint  of  the  plan.  With  Browning's  own  family 
the  case  was  different.  They  had  been  taken  into  confidence, 
and  fully  accepted  the  situation,  the  old  man  fervently 
expres-ing  his  readiness  to  welcome  his  new  daughter. 

"  May  your  father  indeed  be  able  to  love  me  a  little," 
Miss  Barrett  had  written  shortly  before  her  marriage,  "  for 
my  father  will  never  love  me  again."  This  anticipation  was 
fulfilled  to  the  letter.  Mr.  Barrett  admitted  indeed  thao 
he  had  nothing  to  urge  against  Robert  Browning.  When 
Mr.  Kenyon,  later,  said  to  him  that  he  could  not  under- 
stand his  hostility  to  the  marriage,  since  there  was  no  man 
in  the  world  to  whom  he  would  more  gladly  have  given  his 
daughter,  if  he  had  been  so  fortunate  as  to  possess  one,  he 
replied  :  "  I  have  no  objection  to  the  young  man,  but  my 
daughter  should  have  been  thinking  of  another  world."  He 
refused  his  forgiveness,  rejected  all  intercession,  did  not 
open  any  letter  from  her  or  her  husband,  and  went  to  his 
grave  without  a  word  of  reconciliation.    Another  daughter 


140  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1846 

and  a  oon,  who  in  subsequent  years  were  driven  to  follow  the 
same  course,  were  treated  in  the  same  fashion.  More  sur- 
prising to  Mrs.  Browning  it  was,  that  her  brothers  at  first 
joined  in  condemning  her,  in  spite  of  the  knowledge  which 
they  had  of  the  facts  that  justified  her.  This  wound  wa3 
deeply  felt  at  the  moment,  but  time  brought  about  a 
reconciliation,  and  ultimately  George  Moulton-Barrett, 
the  eldest  of  the  family,  was  named  by  Browning  as  one 
of  the  executors  of  his  will. 

The  comments  of  friends  varied  from  acquiescence  to 
bewilderment  in  accordance  with  their  knowledge  of  the 
circumstances.  Mr.  Kenyon,  who  had  been  deliberately  kept 
out  of  the  conspiracy  for  his  own  sake,  but  who  certainly 
had  a  shrewd  suspicion  of  the  real  state  of  aflfairs,  welcomea 
the  marriage  cordially,  endeavoured  to  intercede  with  Mr. 
Barrett,  and  helped  the  married  couple  effectively  by  an 
allowance  of  £100  a  year  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  Words- 
worth's comment  is  famous :  "  So  Robert  Browning  and 
Elizabeth  Barrett  have  gone  off  together  I  Well,  I  hope 
they  may  understand  each  other — nobody  else  could  1 "  Of 
John  Forster  the  following  story  is  told  by  Mr.  Fox,  in  a 
letter  written  soon  after  the  event : 

"  Forster  never  heard  of  the  Browning  marriage  till  the 
proof  of  the  newspaper  {Examiner')  notice  was  sent ;  when 
he  went  into  one  of  his  great  passions  at  the  supposed  hoax, 
ordered  up  the  compositor  to  have  a  swear  at  him,  and 
demanded  to  see  the  MS.  from  which  it  was  taken  :  so  it 
was  brought,  and  he  instantly  recognized  the  hand  of 
Browning's  sister.  Next  day  came  a  letter  from  R.  B., 
saying  he  had  often  meant  to  tell  him  or  write  of  it,  but 
hesitated  between  the  two,  and  neglected  both," 


ROBERT  BROWNING  141 


CHAPTER  X 

1846-1848 

Mrs.  Browning's  Letters — Life  at  Pisa — Florence — Vallombrosa — 
Proposed  Britisti  Mission  to  tiie  Vatican — Casa  Guidi — 
Italian  tour :  Fano,  Ancona,  etc. — Father  Prout — A  Blot  in 
the  ''Scutcheon  at  Sadler's  Wells. 

With  the  marriage  of  Robert  Browning  to  Elizabeth 
Barrett,  the  main  authority  for  his  biography  during  the 
previous  twenty  months,  the  correspondence  which  passed 
between  them,  comes  to  an  end.  Browning's  letters  to  other 
friends  were  subsequently  collected  and  destroyed  by  him, 
to  prevent  their  publication  ;  but  for  the  next  fifteen  years 
the  gap  is  to  a  great  extent  filled  by  the  letters  of  Mrs. 
Browning.  Mrs.  Orr,  when  preparing  the  first  edition  of 
the  present  Life,  had  access  to  some,  at  any  rate,  of  these, 
and  made  considerable  extracts  from  them  ;  but  she  did  not 
see  the  whole  of  the  correspondence  which  has  since  been 
printed,^  and  it  was  easy  to  make  mistakes  as  to  the  chrono- 
logical sequence  of  some  of  the  letters.  In  the  following 
chapters,  which  tell  of  the  married  life  of  the  two  poets,  the 
material  has  necessarily  been  to  some  extent  re-handled. 
So  far  as  possible,  Mrs.  Orr's  narrative  and  extracts  have 
been  followed ;  but  they  have  been  re-arranged,  and 
*  TJie  Letters  of  Elizabeth  Barrett  Brown'mg,  2  vols.  (1897)f 


142  LIFE   AxND   LETTERS   OF  [i846 

supplemented  when  necessary,  in  accordance  with  the  fuller 
knowledge  now  available. 

Mr.  Browning's  troubles  were  not  at  an  end  when  the 
escape  from  London  was  safely  accomplished.  They  assumed 
a  deeper  reality  when  his  delicate  wife  first  gave  herself  into 
his  keeping,  and  the  long  hours  on  steamboat  and  in 
diligence  were  before  them.  What  she  suffered  in  body, 
and  he  in  mind,  during  the  first  days  of  that  wedding- 
journey  is  better  ima;^ined  than  told.  In  Paris  they  met 
Mrs.  Anna  Jameson  (then  also  en  route  for  Italy),  whose 
surprise  at  thus  meeting  the  friend  who  had  so  recently 
refused  her  own  escort  may  well  be  imagined  ;  and  Mrs. 
Browning  was  doubly  cared  for  till  she  and  her  husband 
could  once  more  put  themselves  on  their  way.  At  Genoa 
came  the  long-needed  rest  in  southern  land.  From  thence, 
in  a  few  days  (still  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Jameson  and  her 
niece),  they  went  on  to  Pisa,  and  there  they  settled  for  the 
winter. 

During  the  journey  across  France,  Mrs.  Browning  had 
written  a  letter  to  her  old  friend.  Miss  Mitford,  a  few 
sentences  of  which  deserve  to  be  quoted  : — 

"  Moulins  :  October  2,  1846. 
**  At  Orleans,  with  your  kindest  letter,  I  had  one  from 
my  dearest,  gracious  friend,  Mr.  Kenyon,  who,  in  his  good- 
ness, does  more  than  exculpate — even  approves — he  wrote  a 
joint  letter  to  both  of  us.  But  oh,  the  anguish  I  have  gone 
through  !  You  are  good  ;  you  are  kind.  I  thank  you  from 
the  bottom  of  my  heart  for  saying  to  me  that  you  would 
have  gone  to  the  church  with  me.  Yes,  I  knoiv  you  ivould. 
And  for  that  very  reason  I  forbore  involving  you  in  such  a 
responsibility  and  drawing  you  into  such  a  net  .  •  •  • 


1816]  ROBERT  BROWNING  143 

** .  .  .  And  he,  as  you  say,  had  done  everything  for  me 
— he  loved  me  for  reasons  which  had  helped  to  weary  me  of 
myself — loved  me  heart  to  heart  persistently— in  spite  of 
my  own  will  .  .  .  drawn  me  back  to  life  and  hope  again 
when  I  bad  done  with  both.  My  life  seemed  to  belong  to 
him  and  to  none  other,  at  last,  and  I  had  no  power  to  speak 
a  wor.l.  Have  faith  in  me,  my  dearest  friend,  till  you  know 
him.  The  intellect  is  so  little  in  comparison  to  all  the  rest 
— to  the  womanly  tenderness,  the  inexhaustible  goodness, 
the  high  and  noble  aspiration  of  every  hour.  Temper, 
spirits,  manners — there  is  not  a  flaw  anywhere.  I  shut  my 
eyes  sometimes  and  fancy  it  all  a  dream  of  my  guardian 
angel.  Only,  if  it  had  been  a  dream,  the  pain  of  some 
parts  of  it  would  have  wakened  me  before  now — it  is  not  a 
dream.  .  .  ." 

The  next  letters  speak  for  themselves. 

"  To  Miss  Mitford. 

"  Pisa :  Nov.  5,  1846. 
"...  For  Pisa,  we  both  like  it  extremely.  The  city 
is  full  of  beauty  and  repose, — and  the  purple  mountains 
gloriously  seem  to  beckon  us  on  deeper  into  the  vine  land. 
We  have  rooms  close  to  the  Duomo  and  Leaning  Tower,  in 
the  great  Collc^io  built  by  Vasari  ;  three  excellent  bed- 
rooms and  a  sitting-room,  matted  and  carpeted,  looking 
comfortable  even  for  England.  For  the  last  fortnight, 
except  the  very  last  few  sunny  days,  we  have  had  rain  ;  but 
the  climate  is  as  mild  as  possible,  no  cold  with  all  the  damp. 
Delightful  weather  we  had  for  the  travelling.  .  .  .  Mis. 
Jameson  says  she  '  won't  call  me  improved  but  transformed 
rather.'  ...  I  mean  to  know  something  about  pictures 
some  day.     Robert  does,  and  I  shall  get  him  to  open  my 


144  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [184G- 

eyes  for  me  with  a  little  instruction.    In  this  place  are  to  be 
seen  the  first  steps  of  Art.  .  .  ."  ' 

"  Pisa  :  Deo.  19  ('46). 

"...  Within  these  three  or  four  days  we  have  had 
frost — yes,  and  a  little  snow — for  the  first  time,  say  the 
Pisans,  within  five  years.  Robert  says  the  mountains  are 
powdered  towards  Lucca.  .  .  ." 

«  To  Mr.  H.  8.  Boyd. 

"Dec.  21('46). 
•* .  ,  .  Robert  is  going  to  bring  out  a  new  edition  of  his 
collected  poems,  and  you  are  not  to  read  any  more,  if  you 
please,  till  that  is  done.  I  heard  of  Carlyle's  saying,  the 
other  day,  '  that  he  hoped  more  from  Robert  Browning,  for 
the  people  of  England,  than  from  any  living  English  writer,' 
which  pleased  me,  of  course." 

«  To  Miss  Mitford, 

"  Feb.  8  ('47). 
"...  Robert  is  a  warm  admirer  of  Balzac  and  has  read 
most  of  his  books,  but  certainly  he  does  not  in  a  general 
way  appreciate  our  French  people  quite  with  our  warmth. 
He  takes  too  high  a  standard,  I  tell  him,  and  won't  listen 
to  a  story  for  a  story's  sake — I  can  bear  to  be  amused,  you 
know,  without  a  strong  pull  on  my  admiration.  So  we 
have  great  wars  sometimes — I  put  up  Dumas'  flag  or  Soulie's 
or  Eugene  Sue's  (yet  he  was  properly  possessed  by  the 
Mysteres  de  Paris),  and  carry  it  till  my  arms  ache.  The 
plays  and  vaudevilles  he  knows  far  more  of  than  I  do,  and 
always  maintains  they  are  the  happiest  growth  of  the 
French  school, — setting  aside  the  masters,  observe  ;  for 
Balzac  and  George  Sand  hold  all  their  honours.    Then  we 


1847]  ROBERT  BROWNING  145 

read  together  the  other  day  Rouge  et  Noir,  that  powerful 
work  of  Stendhal's,  and  he  thought  it  very  striking,  and 
observed  that  it  was  exactly  like  Balzac  in  the  raw — in  the 
material  and  undeveloped  conception.  .  .  .  We  leave  Pisa 
in  April,  and  pass  through  Florence  towards  the  north  of 
Italy  ..." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning  reached  Florence  on  April  20, 
but  remained  there  instead  of  merely  passinij  through  it. 
The  two  following  letters  describe  the  chief  events  of  the 
summer ; — 

«  To  Miss  Mitford. 

"  Florence :  Aug.  20  ('47). 

** .  .  .  We  have  spent  here  the  most  delightful  of 
summers  notwithstanding  the  heat,  and  I  begin  to  com- 
prehend the  possibility  of  St.  Lawrence's  ecstasies  on  the 
gridiron.  Very  hot  it  certainly  has  been  and  is,  yet  there 
have  been  cold  intermission?!,  and  as  we  have  spacious  and 
airy  rooms,  and  as  Robert  lets  me  sit  all  day  in  my  white 
dressing-gown  without  a  single  masculine  criticism,  and  as 
we  can  step  out  of  the  window  on  a  sort  of  balcony  terrace 
which  is  quite  private,  and  swims  over  with  moonlight  in 
the  evenings,  and  as  we  live  upon  water-melons  and  iced 
water  and  figs  and  all  manner  of  fruit,  we  bear  the  heat 
with  an  angehc  patience  and  felicity  which  really  are 
edifying. 

"We  tried  to  make  the  monks  of  Yallombrosa  let  us 
stay  with  them  for  two  months,  but  their  new  abbot  said  or 
implied  that  Wilson  and  I  stank  in  his  nostrils,  being 
women.  ...  So  we  were  sent  away  at  the  end  of  five  days. 
So  provoking  1  Such  scenery,  such  hills,  such  a  sea  of  hilla 
looking  alive  among  the  clouds — which  rolled,  it  was  diflflculc 

L 


146  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1847 

to  discern.  Such  pine  woods,  supernaturally  silent,  with 
the  ground  black  as  ink,  such  chestnut  and  beech  forests 
hanging  from  the  mountains,  such  rocks  and  torrents,  such 
chasms  and  ravines.  There  were  eagles  there  too,  and  there 
was  no  road.  Eobert  went  on  horseback,  and  Flush,  Wilson 
and  I  were  drawn  on  a  sledge — {i.e.  an  old  hamper,  a  basket 
wine-hamper — without  a  wheel)  by  two  white  bullocks,  up 
the  precipitous  mountains.  Think  of  my  travelling  in  that 
fashion  in  those  wild  places  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  I 
a  little  frightened,  dreadfully  tired,  but  in  an  ecstasy  of 
admiration  above  all !  It  was  a  sight  to  see  before  one 
died  and  went  away  into  another  world.  Well,  but  being 
expelled  ignominiously  at  the  end  of  five  days,  we  had  to 
come  back  to  Florence,  and  find  a  new  apartment  cooler 
than  the  old,  and  wait  for  dear  Mr.  Kenyon,  and  dear  Mr. 
Kenyon  does  not  come,  and  on  the  20th  of  September  we 
take  up  onr  knapsacks  and  turn  our  faces  towards  Rome, 
creeping  slowly  along,  with  a  pause  at  Arezzo,  and  a  longer 
pause  at  Perugia,  and  another  perhaps  at  Terni.  Then  we 
plan  to  take  an  apartment  we  have  heard  of,  over  the 
Tarpeian  rock,  and  enjoy  Rome  as  we  have  enjoyed 
Florence.  More  can  scarcely  be.  This  Florence  is  un- 
speakably beautiful.  .  .  .  ** 

"Oct.  1  ('47). 

**.  ,  .  Very  few  acquaintances  have  we  made  in  Florence, 
and  very  quietly  lived  out  our  days.  Mr.  Powers,  the 
sculptor,  is  our  chief  friend  and  favourite,  a  most  charming, 
simple,  straightforward,  genial  American — as  simple  as  the 
man  of  genius  he  has  proved  himself  needs  be.  He  some- 
times comes  to  talk  and  take  coffee  with  us,  and  we  like  him 
much.  .  .  .  The  sculptor  has  eyes  like  a  wild  Indian's,  so 
black  and  full  of  light — you  would  scarcely  marvel  if  they 
clave  the  marble  without  the  help  of  his  hands.    We  have 


II 


1847]  ROBERT  BROWNING  147 

Been,  besides,  the  Hoppners,  Lord  Byron's  friends  at  Yenice  ; 
and  MiBS  Boyle,  a  nioce  of  the  Earl  of  Cork,  and  authoress 
and  poetess  on  her  own  account,  having  been  introduced  to 
Robert  in  London  at  Lady  Morgan's,  has  hunted  us  out, 
and  paid  us  a  visit,  A  very  vivacious  little  person,  with 
sparkling  talk  enough  ..." 

In  this  year,  1847,  the  question  arose  of  a  British 
mission  to  the  Vatican  ;  and  Mr.  Browning  wrote  to 
Mr.  Monckton  Milnes  begging  him.  to  signify  to  the 
Foreign  Office  his  more  than  willingness  to  take  part  in 
it.  He  would  be  gLid  and  proud,  he  said,  to  be  secretary 
to  such  an  embassy,  and  to  work  like  a  horse  in  his 
vocation.  The  letter  is  given  in  the  biography  of  Lord 
Houghton,  and  this  appears  to  be  the  only  intimation  of 
the  fact  recorded  there,  When  once  his  Paracelsus  had 
appeared,  and  Mr.  Browning  had  taken  rank  as  a  poet, 
he  renounced  all  idea  of  more  active  work  ;  and  the  tone 
and  habits  of  his  early  married  Hfe  would  have  seemed 
scarcely  consistent  with  a  renewed  impulse  towards  it. 
Before  his  marriage  he  had  expressed  his  willingness  to 
undertake  any  work  that  might  be  necessary  to  enable  him 
to  support  his  wife  ;  but  she  had  strenuously  rejected  any 
idea  of  his  abandoning  his  proper  sphere  of  poetry.  No 
reference  to  this  project  appears  in  her  correspondence  ; 
though  she  might  well  have  been  willing  that  he  should 
take  part  in  a  mission,  the  object  of  which  was  to  promote 
the  cause  of  freedom  in  Italy, 

The  projected  winter  in  Rome  had  been  given  up,  I 
believe  against  the  doctor's  advice,  on  the  strength  of  the 
greater  attractions  of  Florence.  Our  next  extract  is  dated 
from  thence,  Dec.  8,  18i7. 


148  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1847- 

"...  Think  what  we  have  done  since  I  wrote  last  to 
you.  Taken  two  houses,  that  is,  two  apartments,  each  for 
six  months,  presigning  the  contract.  You  will  set  it  down 
to  excellent  poet's  work  in  the  way  of  domestic  economy,  hat 
the  fault  was  altogether  mine,  as  usual.  My  husband,  to 
please  me,  took  rooms  which  I  could  not  be  pleased  by  three 
days  through  the  absence  of  sunshine  and  warmth.  The 
consequence  was  that  we  had  to  pay  heaps  of  guineas  away, 
for  leave  to  go  away  ourselves — any  alternative  being  pre- 
ferable to  a  return  of  illness — and  I  am  sure  I  should  have 
been  ill  if  we  had  persisted  in  staying  there.  You  can 
scarcely  fancy  the  wonderful  difference  which  the  sun 
makes  in  Italy.  So  away  we  came  into  the  blaze  of  him  in 
the  Piazza  Pitti,  precisely  opposite  the  Grand  Duke's  palace  ; 
I  with  my  remorse,  and  poor  Robert  without  a  single 
reproach.  Any  other  man,  a  little  lower  than  the  angels, 
would  have  stamped  and  sworn  a  little  for  the  mere  relief 
of  the  thing — but  as  to  his  being  angry  with  7ne  for  any 
cause  except  not  eating  enough  dinner,  the  said  sun  would 
turn  the  wrong  way  first.  So  here  we  are  in  the  Pitti  till 
April,  in  small  rooms  yellow  with  sunshine  from  morning 
to  evening,  and  most  days  I  am  able  to  get  out  into  the 
piazza  and  walk  up  and  down  for  twenty  minutes  without 
feeling  a  shadow  of  breath  from  the  actual  winter  .  .  .  and 
Miss  Boyle,  ever  and  anon,  comes  at  night,  at  nine  o'clock, 
to  catch  us  at  our  hot  chestnuts  and  mulled  wine,  and 
warm  her  feet  at  our  fire — and  a  kinder,  more  cordial  little 
creature,  full  of  talent  and  accomplishment,  never  had  the 
world's  polish  on  it.  Very  amusing,  too,  she  is,  and  original ; 
and  a  good  deal  of  laughing  she  and  Robert  make  between 
them.  .  .  .  And  this  is  nearly  all  we  see  of  the  Face  Divine 
— I  can't  make  Robert  go  out  a  single  evening.  ..." 

Early  in  1848  the  Brownings  took  the  decisive  step  of 


1848]  ROBERT  BROWNING  149 

securing  a  permanent  habitation  in  Florence, — the  "  Casa 
Guidi"  (a  suite  of  rooms  in  the  Palazzo  Guidi,  almost 
opposite  the  Pitti  Palace),  which  was  thenceforth  to  be 
associated  for  all  time  with  their  names.  There  they  passed 
the  greater  part  of  the  year,  surrounded  by,  and  taking  a 
keen  interest  in,  the  alarums  and  excursions  of  the  ill- 
starred  revolution.  The  house  venture  is  described  in  the 
following  letter  from  Mrs,  Browning  to  Miss  Mitford. 

"  May  28. 

"...  And  now  I  must  tell  you  what  we  have  done  since  1 
wrote  last,  little  thinking  of  doing  so.  You  see  our  problem 
was,  to  get  to  England  as  much  in  our  summers  as  possible, 
the  expense  of  the  intermediate  journeys  making  it  difficult 
of  solution.  On  examination  of  the  whole  case,  it  appeared 
manifest  that  we  were  throwing  money  into  the  Arno  by 
our  way  of  taking  furnished  rooms,  while  to  take  an  apart- 
ment and  furnish  it  would  leave  us  a  clear  return  of  the 
furniture  at  the  end  of  the  first  year  in  exchange  for  our 
outlay,  and  all  but  a  free  residence  afterwards,  the  cheap- 
ness of  furniture  being,  besides,  something  quite  fabulous, 
especially  at  the  present  crisis.  ...  In  fact  we  have  really  \^ 
done  it  magnificently,  and  planted  ourselves  in  the  Guidi 
Palace  in  the  favourite  suite  of  the  last  Count  (his  arms 
are  in  scagliola  on  the  floor  of  my  bedroom).  Though  we 
have  six  beautiful  rooms  and  a  kitchen,  three  of  them  quite 
palace  rooms  and  opening  on  a  terrace,  and  though  such 
furniture  as  comes  by  slow  degrees  into  them  is  antique  and 
worthy  of  the  place,  we  yet  shall  have  saved  money  by  the 
end  of  this  year.  .  .  .  Now  I  tell  you  all  this  lest  you  should 
hear  dreadful  rumours  of  our  having  forsaken  our  native 
land,  venerable  institutions  and  all,  whereas  we  remember  it 
60  well  (it's  a  dear  land  in  many  senses),  that  we  have  dona 


150  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [I8I8 

this  thing  chiefly  in  order  to  make  sure  of  getting  back 
comfortably.  ...  A  stone's  throw,  too,  it  is  from  the  Pitti, 
and  really  in  my  present  mind  I  would  hardly  exchange 
with  the  Grand  Duke  himself.  .  .  .  By  the  bye,  as  to  street, 
we  have  no  spectators  at  windows— just  the  grey  wall  of  a 
church  called  San  Felice  for  good  omen. 

"  Now,  have  you  heard  enough  of  us  ?  What  I  claimed 
first,  in  way  of  privilege,  was  a  spring-sofa  to  loll  upon,  and 
a  supply  of  rain  water  to  wash  in,  and  you  should  see  what 
a  picturesque  oil-jar  they  have  given  us  for  the  latter 
purpose ;  it  would  just  hold  the  Captain  of  the  Forty 
Thieves.  As  to  the  chairs  and  tables,  I  yield  the  more 
especial  interest  in  them  to  Robert ;  only  you  would  laugh 
to  hear  us  correct  one  another  sometimes.  '  Dear,  you  get 
too  many  drawers,  and  not  enough  washing-stands.  Pray 
don't  let  us  have  any  more  drawers  when  we've  nothing 
more  to  put  in  them.'  There  was  no  division  on  the 
necessity  of  having  six  spoons — some  questions  pass  them- 
selves. ..." 

"July. 

" .  .  .  I  am  quite  well  again  and  strong.  Robert  and  I 
go  out  often  after  tea  in  a  wandering  walk  to  sit  in  the 
Loggia  and  look  at  the  Perseus,  or,  better  still,  at  the 
divine  sunsets  on  the  Arno,  turning  it  to  pure  gold  under 
the  bridges.  After  more  than  twenty  months  of  marriage, 
■we  are  happier  than  ever.  ..." 

"  Aug. 

** ...  As  for  ourselves  we  have  hardly  done  so  well — 
yet  well — having  enjoyed  a  great  deal  in  spite  of  draw- 
backs. Murray,  the  traitor,  sent  us  to  Fano  as  a  '  delightful 
summer  residence  for  an  English  family,'  and  we  found  ili 


1848]  ROBERT  BROWNING  151 

aninhabitable  from  the  heat,  vegetation  scorched  into  pale- 
ness, the  very  air  swooning  in  the  sun,  and  the  gloomy 
looks  of  the  inhabitants  sufficiently  corroborative  of  their 
words  that  no  drop  of  rain  or  dew  ever  falls  there  during 
the  summer.  A  '  circulating  library  '  which  '  does  not  give 
out  books,'  and  '  a  refined  and  intellectual  Italian  society ' 
(I  quote  Murray  for  that  phrase)  which  '  never  reads  a  book 
through '  (I  quote  Mrs.  Wiseman,  Dr.  Wiseman's  mother, 
who  has  lived  in  Fano  seven  years)  complete  the  advantages 
of  the  place.  Yet  the  churches  are  very  beautiful,  and  a 
divine  picture  of  Guercino's  is  worth  going  all  that  way  to 
see.  .  .  }  We  fled  from  Fano  after  three  days,  and  finding 
ourselves  cheated  out  of  our  dream  of  summer  coolness, 
resolved  on  substituting  for  it  what  the  Italians  call  '  un  bel 
giro.''  So  we  went  to  Ancona — a  striking  sea  city,  holding 
up  against  the  brown  rocks,  and  elbowing  out  the  purple 
tides — beautiful  to  look  upon.  An  exfoliation  of  the  rock 
itself  you  would  call  the  houses  that  seem  to  grow  there — so 
identical  is  the  colour  and  character.  I  should  like  to  visit 
Ancona  again  when  there  is  a  little  air  and  shadow.  We 
stayed  a  week,  as  it  was,  living  upon  fish  and  cold 
water.  ..." 

The  tour  was  continued  through  Loreto,  Sinigaglia, 
Fano,  Pesaro,  Rimini,  Ravenna,  and  Forli,  and  thence  back 
across  the  Apennines  to  Florence.  Here  Mr.  Browning  was 
for  a  time  laid  up  with  an  attack  of  sore  throat,  which 
fortunately  was  his  last.  It  is  described  in  a  letter  to  Miss 
Mitford  :— 

"  Florence  :  Oct.  10,  1848. 

"...  My  husband  was  laid  up  for  nearly  a  month 
with  fever  and  ulcerated  sore  throat.  .  .  .  Quite  unhappy 

'  [The  visit  and  the  picture  are  commemorated  in  Browniug'j 
poem,  "  The  Guardian  Angel."] 


152  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1848 

I  have  been  over  those  burning  hands  and  languid 
eyes, — the  only  unhappiness  I  ever  had  by  them.  And 
then  he  wouldn't  see  a  physician  :  and  if  it  hadn't  been 
that,  just  at  the  right  moment,  Mr.  Mahony,  the  celebrated 
Jesuit  and  '  Father  Prout  of  "  Fraser," '  knowing  every- 
thing as  those  Jesuits  are  apt  to  do,  came  in  to  us  on  his 
way  to  Rome,  pointed  out  that  the  fever  got  ahead  through 
weakness,  and  mixed  up  with  his  own  kind  hand  a  potion  of 
eggs  and  port  wine,  to  the  horror  of  our  Italian  servant,  who 
lifted  up  his  eyes  at  such  a  prescription  for  a  fever,  crying, 
'  0  Inglesi,  Inglesi  1 '  the  case  would  have  been  far  worse, 
I  have  no  kind  of  doubt.  For  the  eccentric  prescription 
gave  the  power  of  sleeping,  and  the  pulse  grew  quieter 
directly.  I  shall  always  be  grateful  to  Father  Prout, 
always. " 

A  letter  dated  Florence,  December  16,  is  interesting 
with  reference  to  Mr.  Browning's  attitude  when  he  wrote 
the  letters  to  Mr.  Frank  Hill  quoted  above  (p.  110  fif.  )  : 

"  We  have  been,  at  least  I  have  been,  a  little  anxious 
lately  about  the  fate  of  The  Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon  which  Mr. 
Phelps  applied  for  my  husband's  permisiion  to  revive  at 
Sadler's.  Of  course  putting  the  request  was  a  mere  form, 
as  he  had  every  right  to  act  the  play — only  it  made  me 
anxious  till  we  heard  the  result — and  we  both  of  us  are 
very  grateful  to  dear  Mr.  Chorley,  who  not  only  made  it  his 
business  to  be  at  the  theatre  the  first  night,  but,  before  he 
slept,  sat  down  like  a  true  friend  to  give  us  the  story  of  the 
result,  and  never,  he  says,  was  a  more  complete  and  legiti- 
mate success.  The  play  went  straight  to  the  heart  of  the 
audience,  it  seems,  and  we  hear  of  its  continuance  on  the 
stage,  from  the  papers.  You  may  remember,  or  may  not 
have  heard,  how  Macready  brought  it  out  and  put  his  foot 


1848]  ROBERT   BROWNING  153 

on  it,  in  the  flash  of  a  quarrel  between  manager  and 
author  ;  and  Phelps,  knowing  the  whole  secret  and  feeling 
the  power  of  the  play,  determined  on  making  a  revival  of 
it  in  his  own  theatre.  Mr.  Chorley  called  his  acting  really 
'  fine.'  I  see  the  second  edition  of  the  '  Poetical  "Works ' 
advertised  at  last  in  the  *  Athenseum,'  and  conclude  it  to  be 
coming  out  directly."  * 

'  [This  was  an  edition  in  two  volumes,  containing  Paracelsus  and 
the  various  plays  and  poems  which  had  appeared  in  the  series  of 
"  Bells  and  Pomegranates."  It  was  published  in  1849,  and  was  the 
first  collected  edition  of  Browning's  works.] 


154  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF 


CHAPTER  XI 

1840-1852 

Death  of  Mr.  Browning's  Mother — Birth  of  his  Son — Mrs.  Brown- 
ing's Letters  continued — Baths  of  Lucca — Florence  again— 
Venice — Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli — Visit  to  England — Winter 
in  Paris — Carlyle — George  Sand — Alfred  de  Musset. 

On  March  9,  1849,  Mr.  Browning's  son  was  born.  With 
the  joy  of  his  wife's  deliverance  from  the  dangers  of  such 
an  event  came  also  his  first  great  sorrow.  His  mother  did 
not  live  to  receive  the  news  of  her  grandchild's  birth.  The 
letter  which  conveyed  it  found  her  still  breathing,  but  in 
the  unconsciousness  of  approaching  death.  There  had 
been  no  time  for  warning.  The  sister  could  only  break 
the  suddenness  of  the  shock.  A  letter  of  Mrs.  Browning's 
tells  what  was  to  be  told. 

"  To  Miss  Mitford. 

"  Florence  :  April  30  ('49). 
** .  ,  ,  You  will  have  heard  how  our  ]oy  turned  suddenly 
into  deep  sorrow  by  the  death  of  my  husband's  mother.  An 
unsuspected  disease  (ossification  of  the  heart)  terminated  in 
a  fatal  way — and  she  lay  in  the  insensibility  precursive  of 
the  grave's  when  the  letter  written  in  such  gladness  by  my 
poor  husband,  and  announcing  the  birth  of  his  child, 
reached  her  address.     '  It  would    have  made  her    heart 


1849]  ROBERT  BROWNING  155 

bound,'  said  her  daughter  to  us.  Poor  tender  heart — ^the 
last  throb  was  too  near.  The  medical  men  would  not  allow 
the  news  to  be  communicated.  The  next  joy  she  felt  was 
to  be  in  heaven  itself.  My  husband  has  been  in  the  deepest 
anguish,  and  indeed,  except  for  the  courageous  consideration 
of  his  sister,  who  wrote  two  letters  of  preparation,  saying, 
'  She  was  not  well,'  and  she  '  was  very  ill,'  when  in  fact  all 
was  over,  I  am  frightened  to  think  what  the  result  would 
have  been  to  him.  He  has  loved  his  mother  as  such 
passionate  natures  only  can  love,  and  I  never  saw  a  man  so 
bowed  down  in  an  extremity  of  sorrow — never.  Even  now, 
the  depression  is  great — and  sometimes  when  I  leave  him 
alone  a  little  and  return  to  the  room,  I  find  him  in  tears.  I 
do  earnestly  wish  to  change  the  scene  and  air — but  where  to 
go  ?  England  looks  terrible  now.  He  says  it  would  break 
his  heart  to  see  his  mother's  roses  over  the  wall,  and  the 
place  where  she  used  to  lay  her  scissors  and  gloves — which 
I  understand  so  thoroughly  that  I  can't  say,  '  Let  us  go  to 
England.'  We  must  wait  and  see  what  his  father  and  sister 
will  choose  to  do,  or  choose  us  to  do — for  of  course  a  duty 
plainly  seen  would  draw  us  anywhere.  My  own  dearest 
sisters  will  be  painfully  disappointed  by  any  change  of  plan 
— only  they  are  too  good  and  kind  not  to  understand  the 
diflficulty — not  to  see  the  motive.  So  do  you,  I  am  certain. 
It  has  been  very,  very  painful  altogether,  this  drawing  to- 
gether of  life  and  death.  Robert  was  too  enraptured  at 
my  safety  and  with  his  Httle  son,  and  the  sudden  reaction 
was  terrible.  ..." 

"To  3Iiss  Browning. 

"  May  2,  1849. 
"...  Thank  you,  my  very  dear  Sarianna,  for  all  your 
kindness  and  affection.     I  understand  what  I  have  lost.     I 
know  the  worth  of  a  tenderness  such  as  you  speak  of,  and  I 


J  56  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1849 

feel  that  for  the  sake  of  my  love  for  Robert  she  was  ready 
out  of  the  fulness  of  her  heart  to  love  me  also.  It  has  been 
bitter  to  me  that  I  have  unconsciously  deprived  him  of  the 
personal  face-to-face  shining  out  of  her  angelic  nature  for 
more  than  two  years,  but  she  has  forgiven  me,  and  we  shall 
meet  when  it  pleases  God,  before  His  throne.  ...  He  is 
better,  but  still  much  depressed  sometimes,  and  over  your 
letters  he  drops  heavy  tears.  Then  he  treasures  them  up 
and  reads  them  again  and  again.  Better,  however,  on  the 
whole,  he  is  certainly.  Poor  little  babe,  who  was  too  much 
rejoiced  over  at  first,  fell  away  by  a  most  natural  recoil 
(even  /  felt  it  to  be  most  natural)  from  all  that  triumph, 
but  Robert  is  still  very  fond  of  him,  and  goes  to  see  him 
bathed  every  morning,  and  walks  up  and  down  on  the 
terrace  with  him  in  his  arms.  If  your  dear  father  can  toss 
and  rock  babies  as  Robert  can,  he  will  be  a  nurse  in  great 
favour." 

In  July  the  Brownings  left  Florence,  to  avoid  the 
summer  heat,  and  spent  three  months  at  the  Bagni  di 
Lucca. 

**  To  Miss  Mitford. 

"  Bagni  di  Lucca. 

"...  "We  have  been  wandering  in  search  of  cool  air 
and  a  cool  bough  among  all  the  olive  trees  to  build  our 
summer  nest  on.  My  husband  has  been  suffering  beyond 
what  one  could  shut  one's  eyes  to,  in  consequence  of  the 
great  mental  shock  of  last  March — loss  of  appetite,  loss  of 
sleep — looks  quite  worn  and  altered.  His  spirits  never 
rallied  except  with  an  effort,  and  every  letter  from  New 
Cross  threw  him  back  into  deep  depressions.  I  was  very 
anxious,  and  feared  much  that  the  end  of  it  all  (the  intense 


1849]  ROBERT   BROWNING  157 

heat  of  Florence  assisting)  would  be  a  nervous  fever  or 
something  similar ;  and  I  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in 
persuading  him  to  leave  Florence  for  a  month  or  two.  He 
who  generally  delights  so  in  travelling,  had  no  mind  for 
change  or  movement,  I  had  to  say  and  swear  that  Baby 
and  I  couldn't  bear  the  heat,  and  that  we  must  and  would 
go  away.  '  Ce  que  femme  veut,  homme  veut,'  if  the  latter 
is  at  all  amiable,  or  the  former  persevering.  At  last  I 
gained  the  victory.  It  was  agreed  that  we  two  should  go 
on  an  exploring  journey,  to  find  out  where  we  could  have 
most  shadow  at  least  expense  ;  and  we  left  our  child  with 
his  nurse  and  "Wilson,  while  we  were  absent.  We  went 
along  the  coast  to  Spezzia,  saw  Carrara  with  the  white 
marble  mountains,  passed  through  the  olive-forests  and  the 
vineyards,  avenues  of  acacia  trees,  chestnut  woods,  glorious 
surprises  of  the  most  exquisite  scenery.  I  say  olive-forests 
advisedly — the  olive  grows  like  a  forest-tree  in  those 
regions,  shading  the  ground  with  tents  of  silvery  network. 
The  olive  near  Florence  is  but  a  shrub  in  comparison,  and 
I  have  learnt  to  despise  a  little  too  the  Florentine  vine, 
which  does  not  swing  such  portcullises  of  massive  dewy 
green  from  one  tree  to  another  as  along  the  whole  road 
where  we  travelled.  Beautiful  indeed  it  was.  Spezzia  wheels 
the  blue  sea  into  the  arms  of  the  wooded  mountains  ;  and 
we  had  a  glance  at  Shelley's  house  at  Lerici.  It  was 
melancholy  to  me,  of  course.  I  was  not  sorry  that  the 
lodgings  we  inquired  about  were  far  above  our  means.  We 
returned  on  our  steps  (after  two  days  in  the  dirtiest  of 
possible  inns),  saw  Seravezza,  a  village  in  the  mountains, 
where  rock,  river,  and  wood  enticed  us  to  stay,  and  the 
inhabitants  drove  us  off  by  their  unreasonable  prices.  It  is 
curious — but  just  in  proportion  to  the  want  of  civilization 
the  prices  rise  in  Italy.  If  you  haven't  cups  and  saucers, 
you  are  made  to  pay  for  plate.     Well — so  finding  no  rest 


158  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1849 

for  the  soles  of  our  feet,  I  persuaded  Eobert  to  go  to  the 
Baths  of  Lucca,  only  to  see  them.  We  were  to  proceed 
afterwards  to  San  Marcello,  or  some  safer  wilderness.  We 
had  both  of  us,  but  he  chiefly,  the  strongest  prejudice 
against  these  Baths  of  Lucca  ;  taking  them  for  a  sort  of 
wasps'  nest  of  scandal  and  gaming,  and  expecting  to  find 
everything  trodden  flat  by  the  contioental  English — yet,  I 
wanted  to  see  the  place,  because  it  is  a  place  to  see,  after 
all.  So  we  came,  and  were  so  charmed  by  the  exquisite 
beauty  of  the  scenery,  by  the  coolness  of  the  climate,  and 
the  absence  of  our  countrymen — political  troubles  serving 
admirably  our  private  requirements — that  we  made  an  offer 
for  rooms  on  the  spot,  and  returned  to  Florence  for  Baby 
and  the  rest  of  our  establishment  without  further  delay. 
Here  we  are  then.  We  have  been  here  more  than  a 
fortnight.  We  have  taken  an  apartment  for  the  season — ■ 
four  months,  paying  twelve  pounds  for  the  whole  term,  and 
hoping  to  be  able  to  stay  till  the  end  of  October.  The 
living  is  cheaper  than  even  at  Florence,  so  that  there  has 
been  no  extravagance  in  coming  here.  In  fact  Florence  is 
scarcely  tenable  during  the  summer  from  the  excessive  heat 
by  day  and  night,  even  if  there  were  no  particular  motive 
for  leaving  it.  We  have  taken  a  sort  of  eagle's  nest  in  this 
place — the  highest  house  of  the  highest  of  the  three  villages 
which  are  called  the  Bagni  di  Lucca,  and  which  lie  at  the 
heart  of  a  hundred  mountains  sung  to  continually  by  a 
rushing  mountain  stream.  The  sound  of  the  river  and  of 
the  cicale  is  all  the  noise  we  hear.  Austrian  drums  and 
carriage-wheels  cannot  vex  us,  God  be  thanked  for  it ! 
The  silence  is  full  of  joy  and  consolation.  I  think  my 
husband's  spirits  are  better  already,  and  his  appetite 
improved.  Certainly  little  Babe's  great  cheeks  are  growing 
rosier  and  rosier.  He  is  out  all  day  when  the  sun  is  not  too 
Btrong,  and  Wilson  will  have  it  that  he  is  prettier  than  the  ^ 


1849]  ROBERT  BROWNING  159 

whole  population  of  babies  here.  .  .  .  Then  my  own 
strength  has  wonderfully  improved — just  as  my  medical 
friends  prophesied, — and  it  seems  like  a  dream  when  I  find 
myself  able  to  climb  the  hills  with  Robert,  and  help  him  to 
lose  himself  in  the  forests.  Ever  since  my  confinement  I 
have  been  growing  stronger  and  stronger,  and  where  it  is 
to  stop  I  can't  tell,  really.  I  can  do  as  much  or  more  now 
than  at  any  poiut  of  my  life  since  I  arrived  at  woman's 
estate.  The  air  of  the  place  seems  to  penetrate  the  heart, 
and  not  the  lungs  only  :  it  draws  you,  raises  you,  excites 
you.  Mountain  air  without  its  keenness — sheathed  in 
Italian  sunshine — think  what  that  must  be  !  And  the 
beauty  and  the  solitude — for  with  a  few  paces  we  get  free 
of  the  habitations  of  men — all  is  delightful  to  me.  Yf hat 
is  peculiarly  beautiful  and  wonderful,  is  the  variety  of  the 
shapes  of  the  mountains.  They  are  a  multitude — and  yet 
there  is  no  likeness.  None,  except  where  the  golden  mist 
comes  and  transfigures  them  into  one  glory.  For  the  rest, 
the  mountain  there  wrapt  in  the  chestnut  forest  is  not  like 
that  bare  peak  which  tilts  against  the  sky — nor  like  the 
serpent-twine  of  another  which  seems  to  move  and  coil  in 
the  moving  coiling  shadow.  ..." 

She  writes  again  to  the  same  correspondent : 

"  Bagni  di  Lucca  :  Oct.  2  ('49). 

•* .  .  .  I  have  performed  a  great  exploit. — ridden  on  a 
donkey  five  miles  deep  into  the  mountains,  to  an  almost  in- 
accessible volcanic  ground  not  far  from  the  stars.  Robert 
on  horseback,  and  Wilson  and  the  nurse  (with  Baby)  on 
other  donkeys — guides  of  course.  We  set  off  at  eight  in 
the  morning,  and  returned  at  six  p.m.,  after  dining  on  the 
mountain  pinnacle,  I  dreadfully  tired,  but  the  chili  laughing 
as  usual,  burnt  brick  colour  for  all  bud  effect.     No  horse  or 


160  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1848 

ass  untrained  to  the  mountains  could  have  kept  foot  a 
moment  where  we  penetrated,  and  even  as  it  was,  one  could 
not  help  the  natural  thrill.  No  road  except  the  bed  of 
exhausted  torrents  above  and  through  the  chestnut  forests, 
and  precipitous  beyond  what  you  would  think  possible  for 
ascent  or  descent.  Ravines  tearing  the  ground  to  pieces 
under  your  feet.  The  scenery,  sublime  and  wonderful, 
satisfied  us  wholly,  as  we  looked  round  on  the  world  of 
innumerable  mountains,  bound  faintly  with  the  grey  sea — 
and  not  a  human  habitation.  ..." 

With  the  advent  of  the  cold  weather  they  returned  to 
Florence,  and  both  resumed  the  literary  work  which  had 
been  suspended  through  the  pressure  of  recent  events. 
Browning  was  engaged  during  the  winter  on  "  Christmas 
Eve  and  Easter  Day,"  while  his  wife  was  revising  her  poems 
for  a  new  edition.  Externally  the  life  that  they  lived  was 
a  very  quiet  one. 

•'  Florence  :  Feb.  18  ('50). 

"...  You  can  scarcely  image  to  yourself  the  retired 
life  we  live,  or  how  we  have  retreated  from  the  kind  advances 
of  the  English  society  here.  Now  people  seem  to  under- 
stand that  we  are  to  be  left  alone.  ..." 

Nevertheless  they  had  already  made  an  acquaintance  in 
Florence, — not  English,  but  American, — who  was  to  be  the 
most  intimate  of  their  friends  during  the  whole  of  their 
Italian  life.  This  was  the  sculptor,  William  Wetmore  Story, 
who  wrote  as  follows  to  Lowell,  on  March  21,  1849  : —  ^ 

"  The  Brownings  and  we  became  great  friends  in 
Florence.  ...  He  is  of  my  size,  but  slighter,  with  straight 

•  [See  W.  W.  Story  and  his  Friends,  hj  Henry  James  (London, 
1903),  vol.  i.  pp.  171,  172.] 


1850]  ROBERT  BROWNING  161 

black  hair,  small  eyes,  wide  apart,  which  he  twitches  con 
Btantly  together,  a  smooth  face,  a  slightly  aquiline  nose,  and 
manners  nervous  and  rapid.  He  has  a  great  vivacity,  but 
not  the  least  humour,  some  sarcasm,  considerable  critical 
faculty,  and  very  great  frankness  and  friendliness  of  manner 
and  mind.  Mrs.  Browning  used  to  sit  buried  up  in  a  large 
easy-chair,  listening  and  talking  very  quietly  and  pleasantly, 
with  nothing  of  that  peculiarity  which  one  would  expect 
from  reading  her  poems.  Her  eyes  are  small,  her  mouth  ' 
large,  she  wears  a  cap  and  long  curls.  Yery  unaffected  and 
pleasant  and  simple-hearted  is  she,  and  Browning  says  '  her 
poems  are  the  least  good  part  of  her.'  "  [W.  W.  S.  to  J.  R. 
Lowell,  Rome,  March  21,  1849.] 

"Mrs.  Broicning  to  Miss  Mitfonl. 

"  Florence  :  April  1  ('50). 

"...  "We  drive  day  by  day  through  the  lovely  Cascine, 
just  sweeping  through  the  city.  Just  such  a  window  where 
Bianca  Capello  looked  out  to  see  the  Duke  go  by — and  just 
such  a  door  where  Tasso  stood  and  where  Dante  drew  his 
chair  out  to  sit.  Strange  to  have  all  that  old  world  life 
about  us,  and  the  blue  sky  so  bright.  ..." 

Besides  the  friendship  with  the  Storys  Mrs.  Browning's 
correspondence  for  this  year  also  supplies  the  record  of  her 
intimacy,  and  that  of  her  husband,  with  Margaret  Fuller  ,, 
Ossoli.  "  A  very  interesting  person  she  is,  far  better  than 
her  writings — thoughtful,  spiritual  in  her  habitual  mode  of 
mind  ;  not  only  exalted,  but  exaltee  in  her  opinions,  and  yet 
calm  in  manner."  A  warm  attachment  sprang  up  between 
them  during  that  lady's  residence  in  Florence.  Its  last 
oyenings  were  all  spent  at  their  house  ;  and,  soon  after  she 
had  bidden  them  farewell,  she  availed  herself  of  a  two  days' 

M 


162  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1850- 

delay  in  the  departure  of  the  ship  to  return  from  Leghorn 
and  be  with  them  one  evening  more.  She  had  what  seemed 
a  prophetic  dread  of  the  voyage  to  America,  though  she 
attached  no  superstitious  importance  to  the  prediction  once 
made  to  her  husband  that  he  would  be  drowned  ;  and 
learned  when  it  was  too  late  to  change  her  plans  that  her 
presence  there  was,  after  all,  unnecessary.  Mr.  Browning 
was  deeply  affected  by  the  news  of  her  death  by  shipwreck, 
which  took  place  on  July  16,  1850  ;  and  wrote  an  account 
of  his  acquaintance  with  her,  for  publication  by  her  friends. 
This  also,  unfortunately,  was  lost.  Her  son  was  of  the 
same  age  as  his,  little  more  than  a  year  old  ;  but  she  left  a 
token  of  the  friendship  which  might  some  day  have  united 
them,  in  a  small  Bible  inscribed  to  the  baby  Robert,  "  In 
memory  of  Angelo  Eugene  Ossoli."  * 

A  letter  to  Mrs.  Jameson  gives  us  a  glimpse  of  the  occu- 
pations of  this  summer,  and  arouses  recollections  of  "  Old 
Masters  in  Florence." 

"  Florence  :  May  4,  ('50). 

"...  Robert  has  been  picking  up  pictures  at  a  few 
pauls  each,  '  hole  and  corner '  pictures  which  the  dealers  had 
not  found  out ;  and  the  other  day  he  covered  himself  with 
glory  by  discovering  and  seizing  on  (in  a  corn  shop  a  mile 
from  Florence)  five  pictures  among  heaps  of  trash  ;  and  one 
of  the  best  judges  in  Florence  (Mr.  Kirkup)  throws  out 
such  names  for  them  as  Cimabue,  Ghirlandaio,  Giotfcino, — a 
Crucifixion  painted  on  a  banner,  Giottesque,  if  not  Giotto, 
but  unique,  or  nearly  so,  on  account  of  the  linen  material, — 
and  a  little  Virgin  by  a  Byzantine  master.  The  curiona 
thing  is  that  two  angel  pictures,  for  which  he  had  given  a 

»  [See  Letters  of  E.  B.  B.,  i.  459,  460.] 


1851]  ROBERT  BROWNING  163 

Bcudo  last  year,  prove  to  have  been  each  sawn  off  the  sides 
of  the  Ghirlandaio,  so-called,  representing  the  *  Eterno 
Padre '  clothed  in  a  mystical  garment  and  encircled  by  a 
rainbow,  the  various  tints  of  which,  together  with  the 
scarlet  tips  of  the  flying  seraphs'  wings,  are  darted  down 
into  the  smaller  pictures,  and  complete  the  evidence  line  for 
line.  It  has  been  a  grand  altar-piece,  cut  to  bits.  .  .  . 
Will  you  be  among  the  likers  or  disiikers,  I  wonder  some- 
times, of  Robert's  new  book  [Christmas  Eve  and  Easter 
Day']  ?  The  faculty,  you  will  recognize  iu  all  cases  ;  he 
can  do  anything  he  chooses.  I  have  complained  of  the 
asceticism  in  the  second  part ;  but  he  said  it  was  '  one 
side  of  the  question.'  Don't  think  that  he  has  taken  to 
the  cilix — indeed  he  has  not — but  it  is  his  way  to  see 
things  as  passionately  as  others /eeZ  them." 

This  summer  Mrs.  Browning  was  seriously  ill,  and  it 
was  not  until  September  that  they  were  able  to  get  away  to 
Siena  for  a  change  Considerations  of  expense,  as  well  as 
ill -health,  made  the  long-intended  visit  to  England  im- 
possible ;  and  they  returned  to  Casa  Guidi  for  the  winter. 
In  1851,  however,  the  long  journey  was  undertaken,  with 
Yenice  and  Paris  as  stopping-places  en  route.  From  Venice 
Mrs.  Browning  writes  to  Miss  Mitford — 

"  June  4  ('51). 

"  I  have  been  between  heaven  and  earth  since  our  arrival 
at  Yenice.  The  heaven  of  it  is  ineffable.  Never  had  I 
touched  the  skirts  of  so  celestial  a  place.  Tiie  beauty  of 
the  architecture,  the  silver  trails  of  water  up  between  all 
that  gorgeous  colour  and  carving,  the  enchanting  silence, 
the  moonlight,  the  music,  the  gondolas — I  mix  it  all  up 
together,  and  maintain  that  nothing  is  like  it,  nothing  equal 


164  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [issi 

to  it,  not  a  second  Venice  in  the  world.  Do  you  know, 
when  I  came  first  I  felt  as  if  I  never  could  go  away.  But 
now  comes  the  earth  side.  Eobert,  after  sharing  the 
ecstasy,  grows  uncomfortable  and  nervous  and  unable  to  eat 
or  sleep  ;  and  poor  Wilson,  still  worse,  in  a  miserable  con- 
dition of  continual  sickness  and  headaches.  Alas  for  these 
mortal  Yenices — so  exquisite  and  so  bilious  !  " 

London  (after  a  few  weeks  in  Paris)  was  reached  at  the 
end  of  July,  and  there  two  months  were  spent, — the  desired 
but  dreaded  first  visit  to  England  since  their  marriage  ;  and 
then,  as  on  each  succeeding  visit  paid  to  London  with  his 
wife,  Robert  Browning  commemorated  his  marriage  in  a 
manner  all  his  own.  He  went  to  the  church  in  which  it 
had  been  solemnized,  and  kissed  the  paving-stones  in 
front  of  the  door.  It  needed  all  this  love  to  comfort 
Mrs.  Browning  in  the  estrangement  from  her  father  which 
was  henceforth  to  be  accepted  as  final.  He  had  held  no 
communication  with  her  since  her  man-iage,  and  she  knew 
that  it  was  not  forgiven  ;  but  she  had  cherished  a  hope 
that  he  would  so  far  relent  towards  her  as  to  kiss  her  child, 
even  if  he  would  not  see  her.  Her  prayer  to  this  effect 
remained,  however,  unanswered. 

In  the  autumn  they  proceeded  to  Paris,  for  a  stay  of 
nine  months ;  whence  Mrs.  Browning  wrote,  October  22 
and  November  12,  to  Miss  Mitford — 

"  138,  Avenue  des  Champs  Elys^es. 

**.  .  .  It  was  a  long  time  before  we  could  settle  ourselves 
in  a  private  apartment.  ...  At  last  we  came  off  to  these 
Champs  Elysees.  to  a  very  pleasant  apartment,  the  window 
looking  over  a  large  terrace  (almost  large  enough  to  serve 


1851]  ROBERT  BRO^VNING  165 

the  purpose  of  a  garden)  to  the  great  drive  and  promenade 
of  the  Parisians  when  they  come  out  of  the  streets  to  sun 
and  shade  and  show  themselves  off  among  the  trees.  A 
pretty  Uttle  dining-room,  a  writing  and  dressiag-room  for 
Robert  beside  it,  a  drawing-room  beyond  that,  with  two 
excellent  bedrooms,  and  third  bedroom  for  a  'femme  de 
menage,'  kitchen,  &c.  ...  So  this  answers  all  require- 
ments, and  the  sun  suns  us  loyally  as  in  duty  bound  con- 
sidering the  southern  aspect,  and  we  are  glad  to  find 
ourselves  settled  for  sis  months.  "We  have  had  lovely 
weather,  and  have  seen  a  fire  only  yesterday  for  the  first 
time  since  we  left  England.  .  .  .  We  have  seen  nothing  in 
Paris,  except  the  shell  of  it.  Yet,  two  evenings  ago  we 
hazarded  going  to  a  reception  at  Lady  Elgin's,  in  the 
Faubourg  St.  Germain,  and  saw  some  French,  but  nobody 
of  distinction. 

*'  It  is  a  good  house,  I  believe,  and  she  has  an  earnest 
face  which  must  mean  something.  We  were  invited  to  go 
every  Monday  between  eight  and  twelve.  .  .  .  We  go  on 
Friday  to  Madame  Mohl's,  where  we  are  to  have  some  of 
the  '  celebrites.'  ...  I  was  not  disappointed  at  all  in 
what  I  saw  of  writers  of  books  in  Loodon  ;  no,  not  at  all. 
Carlyle,  for  instance,  I  liked  infinitely  more  in  his  per-  V 
Bonality  than  I  expected  to  like  him,  and  I  saw  a  great 
deal  of  him,  for  he  travelled  with  us  to  Paris,  and  spent 
several  evenings  with  us,  we  three  together.  He  is  one 
of  the  most  interesting  men  I  couLl  imagine  even,  deeply 
interesting  to  me ;  and  you  come  to  understand  perfectly, 
when  you  know  him,  that  his  bitterness  is  only  melancholy, 
and  his  scorn,  sensibihty.  Highly  picturesque,  too,  be  is 
in  conversation  ;  the  talk  of  writing  men  is  very  seldom 
BO  good. 

"And,  do  you  know,  I  was  much  taken,  in  London, 
with  a  young  authoress,  Geraldine  Jewsbury.     You  have 


166  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1851- 

read  her  books.  There's  a  French  sort  of  daring,  half- 
audacious  power  in  them,  but  she  herself  is  quiet  and 
simple,  and  drevs^  my  heart  out  of  me  a  good  deal.  I  felt 
inclined  to  love  her  in  our  half-hour's  intercourse.  ..." 

"  138,  Avenue  des  Champs  Elysees  :  (Nov.  12). 

"...  Robert's  father  and  sister  have  been  paying  us 
a  visit  during  the  last  three  weeks.  They  are  very  affec- 
tionate to  me,  and  I  love  them  for  his  sake  and  their  own, 
and  am  very  sorry  at  the  thought  of  losing  them,  which 
we  are  on  the  point  of  doing.  We  hope,  however,  to 
establish  them  in  Paris,  if  we  can  stay,  and  if  no  other 
obstacle  should  arise  before  the  spring,  when  they  must 
leave  Hatcham.  Little  "Wiedemann  draws,  as  you  may 
suppose.  ...  he  is  adored  by  his  grandfather,  and  then, 
Robert  I  They  are  an  afPectionate  family,  and  not  easy 
when  removed  one  from  another.  ..." 

On  their  journey  from  London  to  Paris,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Browning  had  been  joined  by  Carlyle ;  and  it  afterwards 
struck  Mr.  Browning  as  strange  that,  in  the  "  Life "  of 
Carlyle,  their  companionship  on  this  occasion  should  be 
spoken  of  as  the  result  of  a  chance  meeting.  Carlyle  not 
only  went  to  Paris  with  the  Brownings,  but  had  begged 
permission  to  do  so  ;  and  Mrs.  Browning  had  hesitated  to 
grant  this  because  she  was  afraid  her  little  boy  would  be 
■  tiresome  to  him.  Her  fear,  however,  proved  mistaken. 
The  child's  prattle  amused  the  philosopher,  and  led  him 
on  one  occasion  to  say :  "  Why,  sir,  you  have  as  many 
aspirations  as  Napoleon  ! "  At  Paris  he  would  have  been 
miserable  without  Mr.  Browning's  help,  in  his  ignoranca 
of  the  language  and  impatience  of  the  discomforts  which 


1852]  ROBERT   BROWNING  167 

this  created  for  him.  He  couldn't  ask  for  anything,  he 
complained,  but  they  brought  him  the  opposite.^ 

One  one  occasion  Mr.  Carlyle  made  a  singular  remark. 
He  was  walking  with  Mr.  Browning,  either  in  Paris  or  the 
neighbouring  country,  when  they  passed  an  image  of  the 
Crucifixion ;  and  glancing  towards  the  figure  of  Christ, 
he  said,  with  his  deliberate  Scotch  utterance,  "  Ah,  poor 
fellow,  your  part  is  played  out  1  " 

Two  especially  interesting  letters  are  dated  from  the 
same  address,  February  15  and  April  7,  1852. 

"...  Beranger  lives  close  to  us,  and  Robert  has  seen 
him  in  his  white  hat,  wandering  along  the  asphalte.  I 
had  a  notion,  somehow,  that  he  was  very  old,  but  he  is 
only  elderly — not  much  above  sixty  (which  is  the  prime 
of  life,  nowadays)  and  he  lives  quietly  and  keeps  out  of 
scrapes  poetical  and  political,  and  if  Robert  and  I  had  a 
little  less  modesty  we  are  assured  that  we  should  find 
access  to  him  easy.  But  we  can't  make  up  oar  minds  to 
{^0  to  his  door  and  introduce  ourselves  as  vagrant  minstrels, 
when  he  may  probably  not  know  our  names.  We  never 
could  follow  the  fashion  of  certain  authors,  who  send  their 
books  about  without  intimations  of  their  being  likely  to 
be  acceptable  or  not — of  which  practice  poor  Tennyson 
knows  too  much  for  his  peace.  If,  indeed,  a  letter  of 
introduction  to  Beranger  were  vouchsafed  to  us  from  any 
benign  quarter,  we  should  both  be  delighted,  but  we  must 
wait  patiently  for  the  influence  of  the  stars.     Meanwhile, 

*  [For  Carlyle's  narrative  of  the  expedition,  and  of  Browning'3 
services  during  the  journey,  see  his  article  entitled,  "  Excursion 
(futile  enough)  to  Paris,  Autumn,  1851,"  published  in  hast  Words 
of  Thomas  Carlyle,  London,  1892.  While  in  Paris,  Carlyle  was  the 
guest  of  the  Ashburtons,  and  was  only  occasionally  with  tha 
Brownings.^ 


-K 


168  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1832 

we  have  at  last  sent  our  letter  (Mazzini's)  to  George  Sand, 
accompanied  with  a  little  note  signed  by  both  of  us,  though 
written  by  me,  as  seemed  right,  being  the  woman.  We 
half-despaired  in  doing  this — for  it  is  most  difficult,  it 
appears,  to  get  at  her,  she  having  taken  vows  against 
seeing  strangers,  in  consequence  of  various  annoyances 
and  persecutions,  in  and  out  of  print,  which  it's  the  mere 
instinct  of  a  woman  to  avoid — I  can  understand  it  per- 
fectly. Also,  she  is  in  Paris  for  only  a  few  days,  and 
under  a  new  name,  to  escape  from  the  plague  of  her 
notoriety.  People  said,  '  She  will  never  see  you— you  have 
no  chance,  I  am  afraid.'  But  we  determined  to  try.  At 
last  I  pricked  Robert  up  to  the  leap — for  he  was  really 
inclined  to  sit  in  his  chair  and  be  proud  a  little.  'No,' 
said  I,  '  you  sha'')i't  be  proud,  and  I  ivon't  be  proud,  and 
we  will  see  her — I  won't  die,  if  I  can  help  it,  without 
seeing  George  Sand.'  So  we  gave  our  letter  to  a  friend, 
who  was  to  give  it  to  a  friend  who  was  to  place  it  in  her 
hands — her  abode  being  a  mystery,  and  the  name  she  used 
unknown.     The  next  day  came  by  the  post  this  answer : 

" '  Madame,  j'aurai  I'honneur  de  vous  recevoir  Dimanche 
prochain,  rue  Racine,  3.  C'est  le  seul  jour  que  je  puisse 
passer  chez  moi ;  et  encore  je  n'en  suis  pas  absolument 
certaine — mais  j'y  ferai  tellement  mon  possible,  que  ma 
bonne  etoile  m'y  aidera  peut-etre  un  pen.  Agreez  mille 
remerciments  de  ccBur  ainsi  que  Monsieur  Browning,  que 
i'espere  voir  avec  vous,  pour  la  sympathie  que  voug 
m'accordez. 

" '  Geokge  Sand.' 

"  ♦  Paris  :  12  fevrier  '52.* 

"  This  is  graceful  and  kind,  is  it  not  ? — and  we  are 
going  to-morrow — I,  rather  at  the  risk  of  my  life,  but  I 
shall  roll  myself  up  head  and  all  in  a  thick  shawl,  and  we 


1852]  ROBERT  BROWNING  169 

shall  go  in  a  close  carriage,  and  I  hope  I  shall  be  able  to 
tell  you  the  result  before  shutting  up  this  letter. 

^^  Monday. — I  have  seen  G.  S.  She  received  us  in  a 
room  with  a  bed  in  it,  the  only  room  she  has  to  occupy,  I 
suppose,  during  her  short  stay  in  Paris.  She  received  us 
very  cordially  vrith  her  hand  held  out,  which  I,  in  the 
emotion  of  the  moment,  stooped  and  kissed — upon  which 
she  exclaimed,  '  Mais  non  1  je  ne  veux  pas,'  and  kissed  me. 
I  don't  think  she  is  a  great  deal  taller  than  I  am, — yes, 
taller,  but  not  a  great  deal — and  a  little  over-stout  for  that 
height.  The  upper  part  of  the  face  is  fine,  the  forehead, 
eyebrows  and  eyes — dark  glowing  eyes  as  they  should  be  ; 
the  lower  part  not  so  good.  The  beautifal  teeth  project  a 
little,  flashing  out  the  smile  of  the  large  characteristic 
mouth,  and  the  chin  recedes.  It  never  could  have  been  a 
beautiful  face,  Eobert  and  I  agree,  but  noble  and  expressive 
it  has  been  and  is.  The  complexion  is  olive,  quite  without 
colour  ;  the  hair,  black  and  glossy,  divided  with  evident  care 
and  twisted  back  into  a  knot  behind  the  head,  and  she  wore 
no  covering  to  it.  Some  of  the  portraits  represent  her  in 
ringlets,  and  ringlets  would  be  much  more  becoming  to  the 
style  of  face,  I  fancy,  for  the  cheeks  are  rather  over-full. 
She  was  dressed  in  a  sort  of  woollen  grey  gown,  with  a 
jacket  of  the  same  material  (according  to  the  ruling  fashion), 
the  gown  fastened  up  to  the  throat,  with  a  small  linen  col- 
larette, and  plain  white  muslin  sleeves  buttoned  round  the 
wrists.  The  hands  offered  to  me  were  small  and  well- 
shaped.  Her  manners  were  quite  as  simple  as  her  costume. 
I  never  saw  a  simpler  woman.  Not  a  shade  of  affectation 
or  consciousness,  even — not  a  suffusion  of  coquetry,  not  a 
cigarette  to  be  seen  I  Two  or  three  young  men  were  sitting 
with  her,  and  I  observed  the  profound  respect  with  which 
they  listened  to  every  word  she  said.  She  spoke  rapidly, 
with  a  low,  unemphatic  voice.     Repose  of  manner  is  much 


170  LIFE   AND  LETTERS  OF  [1852 

more  her  characteristic  than  animation  is — only,  under  all 
the  quietness,  and  perhaps  by  means  of  it,  you  are  aware  of 
an  intense  burning  soul.  She  kissed  me  again  when  we 
went  away.  .  .  ." 

•'  A^iril  7. — George  Sand  we  came  to  know  a  great  deal 
more  of.  I  tliink  Robert  saw  her  six  times.  Once  he  met 
her  near  the  Tuileries,  offered  her  his  arm  and  walked  with 
her  the  whole  length  of  the  gardens.  She  was  not  on  that 
occasion  looking  as  well  as  usual,  being  a  little  too  much 
'  endimanchee '  in  terrestrial  lavenders  and  super-celestial 
blues — not,  in  fact,  dressed  with  the  remarkable  taste  which 
he  has  seen  in  her  at  other  times.  Her  usual  costume  is 
both  pretty  and  quiet,  and  the  fashionable  waistcoat  and 
jacket  (which  are  a  spectacle  in  all  the  '  Ladies'  Com- 
panions '  of  the  day)  make  the  only  approach  to  masculine 
wearings  to  be  observed  in  her. 

"  She  has  great  nicety  and  refinement  in  her  personal 
ffays,  I  think — and  the  cigarette  is  really  a  feminine 
weapon  if  properly  understood. 

"  Ah  !  but  I  didn't  see  her  smoke.  I  was  unfortunate. 
I  could  only  go  with  Robert  three  times  to  her  house,  and 
once  she  was  out.  He  was  really  very  good  and  kind  to  let 
me  go  at  all  after  he  found  the  sort  of  society  rampant  around 
her.  He  didn't  like  it  extremely,  but  being  the  prince  of 
husbands,  he  was  lenient  to  my  desires,  and  yielded  the 
point.  She  seems  to  live  in  the  abomination  of  desolation, 
as  far  as  regards  society — crowds  of  ill-bred  men  who  adore 
her,  a  genoux  has,  betwixt  a  puff  of  smoke  and  an  ejection 
of  saliva — society  of  the  ragged  red,  diluted  with  the  low 
theatrical.  She  herself  so  different,  so  apart,  so  alone  in 
her  melancholy  disdain.  I  was  deeply  interested  in  that 
poor  woman.  I  felt  a  profound  compassion  for  her.  I  did 
not  mind  much  even  the  Greek,  in  Greek  costume,  who 


V852]  ROBERT   BROWNING  171 

tutoycd  her,  and  kissed  her  I  believe,  so  Eobert  said — or 
the  other  vulgar  man  of  the  theatre,  who  went  down  on  hia 
knees  and  called  her  'sublime.^  '  Caprice  d'amilie,'*  said  she 
with  her  quiet,  gentle  scorn,  A  noble  woman  under  the 
mud,  be  certain.  I  would  kneel  down  to  her,  too,  if  she 
would  leave  it  all,  throw  it  off,  and  be  herself  as  God  made 
her.  But  she  would  not  care  for  my  kneeling — she  does 
not  care  for  me.  Perhaps  she  doesn't  care  much  for  any- 
body by  this  time,  who  knows  ? .  She  wrote  one  or  two  or 
three  kind  notes  to  me,  and  promised  to  voiir  m' emhrasser 
before  she  left  Paris,  but  she  did  not  come.  "We  both  tried 
hard  to  please  her,  and  she  told  a  friend  of  ours  that  she 
'  liked  us.'  Only  we  always  felt  that  we  couldn't  penetrate 
— couldn't  really  touch  her — it  was  all  vain.  .  .  . 

"  Alfred  de  Musset  was  to  have  been  at  M.  Buloz' 
where  Robert  was  a  week  ago,  on  purpose  to  meet  him,  but 
he  was  prevented  in  some  way.  His  brother,  Paul  de 
Musset,  a  very  different  person,  was  there  instead,  but  we 
hope  to  have  Alfred  on  another  occasion.  Do  you  know 
his  poems  ?  He  is  not  capable  of  large  grasps,  but  he  has 
poet's  life  and  blood  in  him,  I  assure  you.  .  .  .  "VTe  are 
expecting  a  visit  from  Lamartine,  who  does  a  great  deal  of 
honour  to  both  of  us,  it  appears,  in  the  way  of  appreciation, 
and  was  kind  enough  to  propose  to  come.  I  will  tell  you 
all  about  it." 

Mr.  Browning  fully  shared  his  wife's  impression  of  a 
want  of  frank  cordiality  on  George  Sand's  part ;  and  was 
especially  struck  by  it  in  reference  to  himself,  with  whom 
it  seemed  more  natural  that  she  should  feel  at  ease.  He 
could  only  imagine  that  his  studied  courtesy  towards  her 
was  felt  by  her  as  a  rebuke  to  the  latitude  which  she 
granted  to  other  men. 

Another  eminent  French  writer  whom  he  much  wished 


172  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1P52 

to  know  was  Victor  Hugo,  and  I  am  told  that  for  years  he 
caiTied  about  him  a  letter  of  introduction  from  Lord 
Hougliton,  always  hoping  for  an  opportunity  of  presenting 
it.  The  hope  was  not  fulfilled,  though,  in  1866,  Mr. 
Browning  crossed  to  Saint  Malo  by  the  Channel  Islands  and 
spent  three  days  in  Jersey. 


ROBERT  BROWNING  173 


CHAPTER  XTT 

1852-1855 

« 
M.  Joseph   Milsand — His  close  Friendship  with  Mr,  Browning; 

Mrs.  Browning's  Impression  of  him — New  Edition  of  Mr. 
Browning's  Poems — Christmas  Eve  and  Easter  Bay — Essay 
on  Shelley — Surnmer  in  London — Dante  Gabriel  Kossetti — 
Florence ;  secluded  Life — Letters  from  Mr.  and  j\Irs.  Brown- 
ing—Co?o?n7Vs  Birthday — Baths  of  Lucca — Mrs.  Browning's 
Letters— Winter  in  Kome — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Story — Mrs.  Sar- 
toris — Fanny  Kemble — Summer  in  London — Tennyson — 
Ruskin. 

It  was  during  this  winter  in  Paris  (the  winter  of  the  coup 
d'etaU  over  which  Mrs.  Browning  was  enthusiastic,  and  her 
husband  considerably  less  so)  that  Mr.  Browning  became 
acquainted  with  M.  Joseph  Milsand,  the  second  Frenchman 
with  whom  he  was  to  be  united  by  ties  of  deep  friendship 
and  affection.  M.  Milsand  was  at  that  time,  and  for  long 
afterwards,  a  frequent  contributor  to  the  Reviie  des  Deux 
Mondes ;  his  range  of  subjects  being  enlarged  by  his, 
for  a  Frenchman,  exceptional  knowledge  of  English  life, 
language,  and  literdture.  He  wrote  an  article  on  Quakerism, 
which  was  much  approved  by  ]\rr.  William  Forster,  and 
a  little  volume  on  Euskin  called  VEdhctlqiid  AngJaisey 
which  was  published  in  the   Billiotheque  de  Philoso^hi» 


174  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [i852 

Contemporaine.'^  Shortly  before  the  arrival  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Browning  in  Paris,  he  had  accidentally  seen  an  extract 
from  Paracelsus.  This  struck  him  so  much  that  he 
procured  the  two  volumes  of  the  works  and  Christmas  Eve, 
and  discussed  the  whole  in  the  Revue  as  the  second  part  of 
an  essay  entitled  La  Poesie  AngJaise  clepuis  Byron.  ]\Ir. 
Browning  saw  the  article,  and  was  naturally  touched  at 
finding  his  poems  the  object  of  serious  study  in  a  foreign 
country,  while  still  so  little  regarded  in  his  own.  It  was  no 
less  natural  that  this  should  lead  to  a  friendship  which,  the 
opening  once  given,  would  have  grown  up  unassisted,  at 
least  on  Mr.  Browning's  side  ;  for  M.  Milsand  united  the 
qualities  of  a  critical  intellect  with  a  tenderness,  a  loyalty, 
and  a  simplicity  of  nature  seldom  found  in  combination  with 
them. 

The  introduction  was  brought  about  by  the  daughter  of 
"William  Browning,  Mrs.  Jebb-Dyke,  or  more  directly  by  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Fraser  Corkran,  who  were  among  the  earliest  friends 
of  the  Browning  family  in  Paris.  M.  Milsand  was  soon  an 
*'  habitue "  of  Mr.  Browning's  house,  as  somewhat  later  of 
that  of  his  father  and  sister  ;  and  when,  many  years  after- 
wards, Miss  Browning  had  taken  up  her  abode  in  England, 
he  spent  some  weeks  of  the  early  summer  in  Warwick 
Crescent,  whenever  his  home  duties  or  personal  occupations 
allowed  him  to  do  so.  Several  times  also  the  poet  and  his 
sister  joined  him  at  Saint-Aubin,  the  seaside  village  in 
Normandy  which  was  his  special  resort,  and  where  they 
enjoyed  the  good  offices  of  Madame   Milsand,  a  home- 

1  He  published  also  an  admirable  little  work  on  the  require- 
ments of  secondary  education  in  France,  equally  applicable  in  many 
respects  tc  any  country  and  to  any  time. 


1852]  ROBERT  BROWNING  175 

staying,  genuine  French  wife  and  mother,  well  acquainted 
with  the  resources  of  its  very  primitive  life.  M.  Milsand 
died,  in  1886,  of  apoplexy,  the  consequence,  I  believe,  of 
heart-disease  brought  on  by  excessive  cold-bathing.  The 
first  reprint  of  Sordello,  in  1863,  had  been,  as  is  well  known, 
dedicated  to  him.  The  Parleyings,  published  within  a  year 
of  his  death,  were  inscribed  to  his  memory.  Mr.  Browning's 
affection  for  him  finds  utterance  in  a  few  strong  words 
which  I  shall  have  occasion  to  quote.  An  undated  fragment 
concerning  him  from  Mrs.  Browning  to  her  sister-in-law, 
points  to  a  later  date  than  the  present,  but  may  as  well  be 
inserted  here. 

"...  I  quite  love  M.  Milsand  for  being  interested  in 
Penini.  What  a  perfect  creature  he  is,  to  be  sure  !  He 
always  stands  in  the  top  place  among  our  gods — Give  him 
my  cordial  regards,  always,  mind.  .  .  .  He  wants,  I  think — 
the  only  want  of  that  noble  nature — the  sense  of  spiritual 
relation  ;  and  also  he  puts  under  his  feet  too  much  the 
worth  of  impulse  and  passion,  in  considering  the  powers  of 
human  nature.  For  the  rest,  I  don't  know  such  a  man. 
He  has  intellectual  conscience — or  say,  the  couscieuce  of  the 
intellect, — in  a  higher  degree  than  I  ever  saw  in  any  man 
of  any  country — and  this  is  no  less  Robert's  belief  than 
mine.  When  we  hear  the  brilliant  talkers  and  noisy 
thinkers  here  and  there  and  everywhere,  we  go  back  to 
Milsand  with  a  real  reverence.  Also,  I  never  shall  forget 
his  delicacy  to  me  personally,  nor  his  tenderness  of  heart 
about  my  child.  .  .  .  ** 

The  criticism  was  inevitable  from  the  point  of  view  of 
Mrs.  Browning's  nature  and  experience  ;  but  I  think  she 
would  have  revoked  part  of  it  if  she  had  known  M.  Milsand 


176  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF  [1852 

in  later  years.  He  would  never  have  agreed  with  her  as 
to  the  authority  of  "  impulse  and  passion,"  but  I  am 
sure  he  did  not  under-rate  their  importance  as  factors  in 
liuman  life. 

M.  Milsand  was  one  of  the  few  readers  of  Browning 
ff'ith  whom  I  have  talked  about  him,  who  had  studied  his 
work  from  the  beginning,  and  had  realized  the  ambition  of 
his  first  imaginative  flights.  He  was  more  perplexed  by 
the  poet's  utterance  in  later  years.  "  Quel  homme  extra- 
ordinaire 1 "  he  once  said  to  me  ;  "  son  centre  n'est  pas  au 
milieu."  The  usual  criticism  would  have  been  that,  while 
his  own  centre  was  in  the  middle,  he  did  not  seek  it  in  the 
middle  for  the  things  of  which  he  wrote ;  but  I  remember 
that,  at  the  moment  in  which  the  words  were  spoken,  they 
impressed  me  as  full  of  penetration.  Mr.  Browning  had  so 
much  confidence  in  M.  Milsand's  linguistic  powers  that  he 
invariably  sent  him  his  proof-sheets  for  final  revision,  and 
was  exceedingly  pleased  with  such  few  corrections  as  his 
friend  was  able  to  suggest. 

With  the  name  of  Milsand  connects  itself  in  the  poet's 
life  that  of  a  younger,  but  very  genuine  friend  of  both,  M. 
Gustavo  Dourlans :  a  man  of  fine  critical  and  intellectual 
powers,  unfortunately  neutralized  by  bad  health.  M. 
Dourlans  also  became  a  visifcor  at  "Warwick  Orescent,  and  a 
frequent  correspondent  of  Mr.  or  rather  of  Miss  Browning. 
He  came  from  Paris  once  more,  to  witness  the  last  sad 
scene  in  Westminster  Abbey. 

The  first  three  years  of  Mr.  Browning's  married  life  had 
been  unproductive  from  a  literary  point  of  view.  The 
realization  and  enjoyment  of  the  new  companionship,  the 
duties  as  well  as  interests  of  the  dual  existence,  and,  lastly, 


1S52]  ROBERT  BROWNING  177 

the  shock  and  pain  of  his  mother's  death,  had  absorbed  his 
mental  energies  for  the  time  being.  But  by  the  close  of 
1848  he  had  prepared  for  publication  in  the  following  year 
a  new  edition  of  Paracelsus  and  the  Bells  and  Pomegranates 
poems.  The  reprint  was  in  two  volumes,  and  the 
publishers  were  Messrs.  Chapman  and  Hall ;  the  system, 
maintained  through  Mr.  Moxon,  of  publication  at  the 
author's  expense,  being  abandoned  by  Mr.  Browning  when 
he  left  home.  Mrs.  Browning  writes  of  him  on  this 
occasion  that  he  is  paying  "  peculiar  attention  to  the 
objections  made  against  certain  obscurities."  He  himself 
prefaced  the  edition  by  these  words  :  "  Many  of  these 
pieces  were  out  of  print,  the  rest  had  been  withdrawn  from 
circulation,  when  the  corrected  edition,  now  submitted  to 
the  reader,  was  prepared.  The  various  Poems  and  Dramas 
have  received  the  author's  most  careful  revision.  December 
1848." 

In  1850,  in  Florence,  he  wrote  Chridmas  Eve  and  Easter 
Day ;  and  in  December  1851,  in  Paris,  the  essay  on  Shelley, 
to  be  prefixed  to  twenty-five  supposed  letters  of  that  poet, 
published  by  Moxon  in  1852.^ 

The  reading  of  this  Essay  might  serve  to  correct  the 
frequent  misapprehension  of  Mr.  Browning's  reUgious  views 
which  has  been  based  on  the  literal  evidence  of  Christmas 
Eve,  were  it  not  that  its  companion  poem  has  failed  to 
do  so  ;  thcugh  the  tendency  of  Easter  Day  is  as  different 
from  that  of  its  precursor  as  their  common  Christianity 
admits.  The  balance  of  argument  in  Chrisfmas  Eve  is  in 
favour  of  direct  revelation  of  religious  truth  and  prosaic 

'  They  were  discovered,  not  long  afterwards,  to  be  spurious,  and 
the  book  suppressed. 


178  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1852 

certainty  regarding  it ;  while  the  Easter  Day  vision  malies 
a  tentative  and  unresting  attitude  the  first  condition  of  the 
religious  life  ;  and  if  Mr.  Browning  has  meant  to  say — as 
he  so  often  did  say — that  religious  certainties  are  required 
for  the  undeveloped  mind,  but  that  the  growing  religious 
iutelligence  walks  best  by  a  receding  light,  he  denies  the 
positive  basis  of  Christian  belief,  and  is  no  more  orthodox 
in  the  one  set  of  reflections  than  in  the  other.  The  spirit, 
however,  of  both  poems  is  ascetic :  for  the  first  divorces 
religious  worship  from  every  appeal  to  the  poetic  sense ; 
the  second  refuses  to  recognize,  in  poetry  or  art,  or  the 
attainments  of  the  intellect,  or  even  in  the  best  human 
love,  any  practical  correspondence  with  religion.  The 
dissertation  on  Shelley  is,  what  Sordello  was,  what  its 
author's  treatment  of  poets  and  poetry  always  must  be — 
an  indirect  vindication  of  the  concoptions  of  human  life 
which  Christmas  Eve  and  Easter  Day  condemns.  This 
double  poem  stands  indeed  so  much  alone  in  Mr.  Browning's 
work  that  we  are  tempted  to  ask  ourselves  to  what  circum- 
stance or  impulse,  external  or  internal,  it  has  been  due  ;  and 
a  we  can  only  conjecture  that  the  prolonged  communion 
with  a  mind  so  spiritual  as  that  of  his  wife,  the  special 
sympathies  and  differences  which  were  elicited  by  it,  may 
have  quickened  his  religious  imagination,  while  directing  it 
towards  doctrinal  or  controversial  issues  which  it  had  not 
previously  embraced. 

The  Essay  is  a  tribute  to  the  genius  of  Shelley  ;  it  is 
also  a  justification  of  his  life  and  character,  as  the  balance 
of  evidence  then  presented  them  to  Mr.  Browning's  mind. 
It  rests  on  a  definition  of  the  respective  qualities  of  the 
objective  and  the  subjective  poet.  .  .  .  While  both,  he  says, 


1852]  ROBERT  BROWNING  179 

are  gifted  with  the  fuller  perception  of  nature  and  man,  the 
one  endeavours  to — 

*'  reproduce  things  external  (whether  the  phenomena  of  the 
scenic  universe,  or  the  manifested  action  of  the  human 
heart  and  brain)  with  an  immediate  reference,  in  every 
case,  to  the  common  eye  and  apprehension  of  his  fellow- 
men,  assumed  capable  of  receiving  and  profiting  by  this 
reproduction " —  the  other  "  is  impelled  to  embody  the 
thing  he  perceives,  not  so  much  with  reference  to  the 
many  below,  as  to  the  One  above  him,  the  supreme 
Intelligence  which  apprehends  all  things  in  their  absolute 
truth, — an  ultimate  view  ever  aspired  to,  if  but  partially 
attained,  by  the  poet's  own  soul.  Not  what  man  sees,  but 
what  God  sees — the  Ideas  of  Plato,  seeds  of  creation  lying 
burningly  on  the  Divine  Hand — it  is  toward  these  that  he 
struggles.  Not  with  the  combination  of  humanity  in 
action,  but  with  the  primal  elements  of  humanity  he  has  to 
do  ;  and  he  digs  where  he  stands, — preferring  to  seek 
them  in  his  own  soul  as  the  nearest  reflex  of  that  absolute 
Mind,  according  to  the  intuitions  of  which  he  desires  to 
perceive  and  speak," 

The  objective  poet  is  therefore  a  fashioner,  the  subjective 
is  best  described  as  a  seer.  The  distinction  repeats  itself 
in  the  interest  with  which  we  study  their  respective  lives. 
We  are  glad  of  the  biography  of  the  objective  poet  because 
it  reveals  to  us  the  power  by  which  he  works ;  we  desire 
still  more  that  of  the  subjective  poet,  because  it  presents  us 
with  another  aspect  of  the  work  itself.  The  poetry  of  such 
a  one  is  an  effluence  much  more  than  a  production  ;  it  is 

"  the  very  radiance  and  aroma  of  his  personality,  projected 
from  it  but  not  separated.  Therefore,  in  our  approach  to 
the  poetry,  we  necessarily  approach  the  personality  of  the 


180  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1852 

poet ;  in  apprehending  it  we  apprehend  him,  and  certainly 
we  cannot  love  it  without  loving  him." 

The  reason  of  Mr.  Browning's  prolonged  and  instinctive 
reverence  for  Shelley  is  thus  set  forth  in  the  opening  pages 
of  the  Essay  :  he  recognized  in  his  writings  the  quality  of 
a  "  subjective  "  poet ;  hence,  as  he  understands  the  word, 
the  evidence  of  a  divinely  inspired  man. 

Mr.  Browning  goes  on  to  say  that  we  need  the  recorded 
life  in  order  quite  to  determine  to  which  class  of  inspiration 
a  given  work  belongs  ;  and  though  he  regards  the  work  of 
Shelley  as  carrying  its  warrant  within  itself,  his  position  leaves 
ample  room  for  a  withdrawal  of  faith,  a  reversal  of  judge- 
ment, if  the  ascertained  facts  of  the  poet's  life  should  at  any 
future  time  bear  decided  witness  against  him.  He  is  also 
careful  to  avoid  drawing  too  hard  and  fast  a  line  between  the 
two  opposite  kinds  of  poet.  He  admits  that  a  pure  instance 
of  either  is  seldom  to  be  found  ;  he  sees  no  reason  why 

"  these  two  modes  of  poetic  faculty  may  not  issue  hereafter 
from  the  same  poet  in  successive  perfect  works.  ...  A 
mere  running-in  of  the  one  faculty  upon  the  other  "  being, 
meanwhile,  "  the  ordinary  circumstance." 

I  venture,  however,  to  think,  that  in  his  various  and 
necessary  concessions,  he  lets  slip  the  main  point ;  and  for 
the  simple  reason  that  it  is  untenable.  The  terms  subjective 
and  objective  denote  a  real  and  very  important  difference 
on  the  ground  of  judgement,  but  one  which  tends  more  and 
more  to  efface  itself  in  the  sphere  of  the  higher  creative 
imagination.  Mr.  Browning  might  as  briefly,  and  I  think 
more  fully,  have  expressed  the  salient  quality  of  his  poet, 
even  while  he  could  describe  it  in  these  emphatic  words  : 


1852]  ROBERT  BROWNING  181 

"  I  pass  at  once,  therefore,  from  Shelley's  minor  excellencies 
to  his  noblest  and  predominating  characteristic. 

"  This  I  call  his  simultaneous  perception  of  Power  and 
Love  in  the  absolute,  and  of  Beauty  and  Good  in  the 
concrete,  while  he  throws,  from  his  poet's  station  between 
both,  swifter,  subtler,  and  more  numerous  films  for  the 
connexion  of  each  with  each,  than  have  been  thrown  by 
any  modern  artificer  of  whom  I  have  knowledge  ...  I 
would  rather  consider  Shelley's  poetry  as  a  sublime  frag- 
mentary essay  towards  a  presentment  of  the  correspondency 
of  the  universe  to  Deity,  of  the  natural  to  the  spiritual,  and 
of  the  actual  to  the  ideal.  ..." 

This  essay  has,  in  common  with  the  poems  of  the  pre- 
ceding years,  the  one  quality  of  a  largely  religious  and,  in 
a  certain  sense,  Christian  spirit,  and  in  this  respect  it  falls 
naturally  into  the  general  series  of  its  author's  works.  The 
assertion  of  Platonic  ideas  suggests,  however,  a  mood  of 
spiritual  thought  for  which  the  reference  in  Pauline  has 
been  our  only,  and  a  scarcely  sufficient  preparation  ;  nor 
could  the  most  definite  theism  to  be  extracted  from  Platonic 
belief  ever  satisfy  the  human  aspirations  which,  iu  a  nature 
like  that  of  Robert  Browning,  culminate  in  the  idea  of 
God.  The  metaphysical  aspect  of  the  poet's  genius  here 
distinctly  reappears  for  the  first  time  since  SordeUo,  and 
also  for  the  last.  It  becomes  merged  in  the  simpler  forms 
of  the  religious  imagination. 

The  justification  of  the  man  Shelley,  to  which  great 
part  of  the  Essay  is  devoted,  contains  little  that  would 
Beem  new  to  his  more  recent  apologists ;  little  also  which 
to  the  writer's  later  judgements  continued  to  recommend 
itself  as  true.     It  was  as  a  great  poetic  artist,  not  as  a 


182  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   CF  [1851 

great  poet,  that  the  author  of  Prometheus  and  The  Cenci, 
of  Julian  and  Uaddalo  and  Epipsyschidion  was  finally  to 
rank  in  Mr.  Browning's  mind.  The  whole  remains  never- 
theless a  memorial  of  a  very  touching  affection  ;  and  what- 
ever intrinsic  value  the  Essay  may  possess,  its  main  interest 
must  always  be  biographical.  Its  motive  and  inspiration 
are  set  forth  in  the  closing  lines  : 

"It  is  because  I  have  long  held  these  opinions  in 
assurance  and  gratitude,  that  I  catch  at  the  opportunity 
offered  to  me  of  expressing  them  here  ;  knowing  that  the 
alacrity  to  fulfil  an  humble  office  conveys  more  love  than 
the  acceptance  of  the  honour  of  a  higher  one,  and  that 
better,  therefore,  than  the  signal  service  it  was  the  dream 
of  my  boyhood  to  render  his  fame  and  memory,  may  be  the 
saying  of  a  few,  inadequate  words  upon  these  scarcely  more 
important  supplementary  letters  of  Shelley." 

If  Mr.  Browning  had  seen  reason  to  doubt  the  genuine- 
ness of  the  letters  in  question,  his  Introduction  could  not 
have  been  written.  That,  while  receiving  them  as  genuine, 
he  thought  them  unimportant,  gave  it,  as  he  justly  discerned, 
its  full  significance. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning  returned  to  London  for  the 
summer  of  1852,  when  they  made  tlie  acquaintance  of 
Kingsley  and  Ruskin,  and  saw  many  of  their  older  friends, 
-L  including  Tennyson,  who  prevailed  on  Mr.  Browning  to  be 
present  at  the  christening  of  his  son  Hallam.  We  have 
a  glimpse  of  them  in  a  letter  from  Mr.  Fox  to  his  daughter. 

"  July  16,  '52. 
**.  .  .  I  had  a  charming  hour    with  the  Brownings 
yesterday  ;  more  fascinated  with  her  than  ever.     She  talked 


1S52]  ROBERT  BROWNING  183 

lots  of  George  Sand,  and  so  beautifully.  Moreover  she 
silver-electroplated  Louis  Napoleon  I  !  They  are  lodging  at 
58  "Welbeck  Street ;  the  house  has  a  queer  name  on  the 
door,  and  belongs  to  some  Belgian  family. 

"  They  came  in  late  one  night,  and  R.  B.  says  that  in  the 
morning  twilight  he  saw  three  portraits  on  the  bedroom 
wall,  and  speculated  who  they  might  be.  Light  gradually 
showed  the  first,  Beatrice  Cenci,  '  Good  ! '  said  he  ;  '  in  a 
poetic  region.'  More  light  :  the  second,  Lord  Byron  I 
Who  can  the  third  be  ?  And  what  think  you  it  was,  but 
your  sketch  (engraved  chalk  portrait)  of  me  ?  He  made 
quite  a  poem  and  picture  of  the  affair. 

"  She  seems  much  better  ;  did  not  put  her  hand  before 
her  mouth,  which  I  took  as  a  compliment :  and  the  young 
Florentine  was  gracious.  ..." 

It  need  hardly  be  said  that  this  valued  friend  was  one 
of  the  first  whom  Mr.  Browning  introduced  to  his  wife,  and 
that  she  responded  with  ready  warmth  to  his  claims  on  her 
gratitude  and  regard.  More  than  one  joint  letter  from 
herself  and  her  husband  commemorates  this  new  phase  of 
the  intimacy  ;  one  especially  interesting  was  written  from 
Florence  in  1858,  in  answer  to  the  announcement  by  Mr* 
Fox  of  his  election  for  Oldham  ;  and  Mr.  Browning's  con- 
tribution, which  is  very  characteristic,  will  appear  in  due 
coarse. 

Either  this  or  the  preceding  summer  brought  Mr. 
Browning  for  the  first  time  into  personal  contact  with  an 
early  lover  of  his  works  :  Mr.  D.  G.  Eossetti.  They  had 
exchanged  letters  a  year  or  two  before,  on  the  subject  of 
Pauline,  which  Rossetti  (as  I  have  already  mentioned)  h.ad 
read  in  ignorance  of  its  origin,  but  with  the  conviction  that 
only  the  author  of  Paracelsus  could  have  produced  it.     He 


184  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1S52- 

wrote  to  Mr.  Browning  to  ascertain  the  fact,  &,nd  to  tell 
him  he  had  admired  the  poem  so  much  as  to  transcribe  it 
whole  from  the  British  ]\Iuseum  copy.  He  now  called  on 
Lim  with  Mr.  William  AUingham  ;  and  doubly  recommended 
himself  to  the  poet's  interest  by  telling  him  that  he  wag  a 
painter.  When  Mr.  Browning  was  again  in  London,  in 
1855,  Rossetti  began  painting  his  portrait,  which  he  finished 
in  Paris  in  the  ensuing  winter. 

In  October  the  Brownings  left  London,  the  autumn 
climate  of  which  had  been  very  trying  to  Mrs.  Browning, 
I  and  the  winter  of  1852^3  saw  the  family  once  more  in 
Florence  and  at  Casa  Guidi,  where  the  routine  of  quiet  days 
was  resumed.  Mrs.  Browning  has  spoken  in  more  than  one 
cf  her  letters  of  the  comparative  social  seclusion  in  which 
she  and  her  husband  had  elected  to  live.  This  seclusion 
was  much  modified  in  later  years,  and  many  well-known 
English  and  American  names  became  associated  with  their 
daily  life.  It  referred  indeed  almost  entirely  to  their  resi- 
dence in  Florence,  where  they  found  less  inducement  to 
enter  into  society  than  in  London,  Paris,  and  Rome.  Eren 
there  their  friends  during  the  present  winter,  "  with  others 
J  of  less  note,"  included  Frederick  Tennyson,  young  Robert 
Lytton,  and  the  American  sculptor  Powers.  But  it  is  on 
record  that  during  the  fifteen  years  of  his  mjirried  life,  i\Ir. 
Browning  never  dined  away  from  home,  except  on  one 
occasion — an  exception  proving  the  rule  ;  ^  and  we  cannot 
therefore  be  surprised  that  he  should  subsequently  have 

1  [Mrs.  Browning's  letters  show  that,  whether  or  not  this  is 
literally  true  with  regard  to  his  dining,  it  must  not  be  taken  to 
imply  that  he  never  went  out  in  the  evenings.  In  Florence  their 
life  was  very  quiet,  but  in  Rome  Browning  took  part  in  many  social 
gatherings.] 


1S53]  ROBERT  BROWNING  1S5 

carried  into  the  experience  of  an  unshackled  and  very 
interesting  social  intercourse,  a  kind  of  freshness  which  a 
man  of  fifty  has  not  generally  preserved. 

The  one  excitement  which  presented  itself  in  the  early 
months  of  1853  was  the  production  of  Colomlie's  Birthday. 
The  first  allusion  to  this  comes  to  us  in  a  letter  from  the 
poet  to  Lady,  then  Mrs.  Theodore,  Martin,  from  which  I 
quote  a  few  passages. 

"  Florence  :  Jan.  31,  '53. 
"  My  dear  Mrs.  Murtin, —  ...  Be  assured  that  I,  for 
my  part,  have  been  in  no  danger  of  forgetting  my  promises 
any  more  than  your  performances — which  were  admirable 
of  all  kinds.  I  shall  be  delighted  if  you  can  do  anything 
for  '  Colombe ' — do  what  you  think  best  with  it,  and  for 
me — it  will  be  pleasant  to  be  in  such  hands — only,  pray 
follow  the  corrections  in  the  last  edition — (Chapman  and 
Hall  will  give  you  a  copy) — as  they  are  iuaportant  to  the 
sense.  As  for  the  condensation  into  three  acts — I  shall  leave 
that,  and  all  cuttings  and  the  like,  to  your  own  judgment — 
and,  come  what  will,  I  shall  have  to  be  grateful  to  you,  as 
before.  For  the  rest,  you  will  play  the  pirt  to  heart's  con- 
tent, I  hioiv  .  .  .  And  how  good  it  will  be  to  see  you 
again,  and  make  my  wife  see  you  too — she  who  '  never  saw 
a  great  actress'  she  says — unless  it  was  Dejizet !  ..." 

Mrs.  Browning  writes  about  the  performance,  April  12  : 

"...  I  am  beginning  to  be  anxious  about  Colomhe's 
Birthday.  I  care  much  more  about  it  than  Bobert  does. 
He  says  that  no  one  will  mistake  it  for  his  speculation  ;  it's 
Mr.  Buckstone's  affair  altogether.  True — but  I  should  lika 
it  to  succeed,  being  Bobcrt's  play,  notwithstanding.     Bui 


186  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1853 

the  play  is  subtle  and  refined  for  pits  and  galleries.  I  am 
nervous  about  it.  On  the  other  hand,  those  theatrical 
people  ought  to  know, — and  what  in  the  world  made  them 
select  it,  if  it  is  not  likely  to  answer  their  purpose  ?  By 
the  way,  a  dreadful  rumour  reaches  us  of  its  having  been 
'  prepared  for  the  stage  by  the  author.'  Don't  believe  a 
word  of  it.  Robert  just  said  '  yes  '  when  they  wrote  to  ask 
him,  and  not  a  line  of  communication  has  passed  since. 
He  has  prepared  nothing  at  all,  suggested  nothing,  modified 
nothing.  He  referred  them  to  his  new  edition,  and  that 
was  the  whole.  .  .  .  ** 

She  communic?.tes  the  result  in  May: 

"...  Yes,  Robert's  play  succeeded,  but  there  could  be 
no  'run'  for  a  play  of  that  kind.  It  was  a  'succea 
d'estime'  and  something  more,  which  is  surprising  perhaps, 
considering  the  miserable  acting  of  the  men.  Miss  Faucit 
was  alone  in  doing  us  justice.  ..." 

Mrs.  Browning  did  see  "  Miss  Faucit "  on  her  next 
visit  to  England.  She  agreeably  surprised  that  lady  by 
presenting  herself  alone,  one  morning,  at  her  house,  and 
remaining  with  her  for  an  hour  and  a  balf.  The  only 
person  who  had  "  done  justice  "  to  CoJomhe,  besides  con- 
tributing to  whatever  success  her  husband's  earlier  plays 
had  obtained,  was  much  more  than  "  a  great  actress "  to 
Mrs.  Browning's  mind  ;  and  we  may  imagine  it  would  have 
gone  hard  with  her  before  she  renounced  the  pleasure  of 
making  her  acquaintance. 

The  following  letters  tell  how  and  where  the  ensuing 
summer  of  1853  was  passed,  besides  introducing  us  again 
to  Mr.  and  ]\Irs.  William  Story,  between  whose  family  and 


18531  ROBERT  BROWNING  187 

that  of  Mr.  Brovvning  a  most  friendly  intimacy  already 
subsisted,  as  has  been  recorded  above. 

"  To  Miss  Mitford. 

"  July  15. 

"...  We  have  taken  a  villa  at  the  Baths  of  Lncca 
after  a  little  holy  fear  of  the  company  there — but  the 
Bcenery,  and  the  coolness,  and  the  convenience  altogether 
prevail,  and  we  have  taken  our  villa  for  three  months  or 
rather  more,  and  go  to  it  next  week  with  a  stiff  resolve  of 
not  calling  nor  being  called  upon.  You  remember  perhaps 
that  we  were  tiiere  four  years  ago  just  after  the  birth  of  our 
child.  The  mountains  are  wonderfal  in  beauty,  and  we 
mean  to  bay  ojr  holiday  by  doing  some  work.  .  .  . 

"  Oh  yes  !  I  confess  to  loving  Florence,  and  to  having 
associated  with  it  the  idea  of  home.  ..." 

''To  Mr.  Chorley. 

"  Bagni  di  Lucca :  Aug.  10. 

"...  Robert  and  I  make  excursions,  he  walking  as 
slowly  as  he  can  to  keep  up  with  my  donkey.  When  the 
donkey  trots,  we  are  more  equal.  .  .  .  "We  are  doing  a  lirtle 
work,  both  of  us.  Robert  is  working  at  a  volume  of  lyrics, 
of  which  I  have  seen  but  a  few,  and  these  seemed  to  me  as 
fine  as  anything  he  has  done.  We  neither  of  us  show  our 
work  to  one  another  till  it  is  finished.  An  artist  must, 
I  fancy,  either  find  or  make  a  solitude  to  work  in,  if  it  is  to 
be  good  work  at  all.  ..." 

«  To  Miss  Mi'ford. 
*'  Casa  Tolomei,  Alta  Villa,  Bagni  di  Lucca :  Aug.  20. 
**  .  .  .  We  are  enjoying  the  mountains  here — riding  the 
donkeys  in  the  footsteps  of  the  sheep,  and  eating  strawberries 


188  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1853- 

and  milk  by  basinsful.  The  strawberries  succeed  one  another 
throughout  the  summer,  through  growing  on  different 
aspects  of  the  hills.  If  a  tree  is  felled  in  the  forests, 
\  strawberries  sprin?  up,  just  as  mushrooms  might,  and  the 
peasants  sell  them  for  just  nothing.  .  .  .  Then  our  friends 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Story  help  the  mountains  to  please  us  a  good 
deal.  He  is  the  son  of  Judge  Story,  the  biographer  of  his 
father,  and,  for  himself,  sculptor  and  poet — and  she  a 
sympathetic  graceful  woman,  fresh  and  innocent  in  face 
and  thought.  "We  go  backwards  and  forwards  to  tea  and 
talk  at  one  another's  houses. 

"...  Since  I  began  this  letter  the  Storys  and  ourselves 
have  had  a  grand  donkey  excursion  to  a  village  called 
Benabbia,  and  the  cross  above  it  on  the  mountain-peak. 
"We  returned  in  the  dark,  and  were  in  some  danger  of 
tumbling  down  various  precipices — ^but  the  scenery  was 
exquisite — past  speaking  of  for  beauty.  Oh,  those  jagged 
mountains,  rolled  together  like  pre- Adamite  beasts  and  setting 
their  teeth  against  the  sky — it  was  wonderful.  ..." 

Mr.  Browning's  share  of  the  work  referred  to  was  In  a 
BaJcomj ;  also  some  of  the  Men  and  Women ;  the  scene  of 
the  declaration  in  By  the  Fireside  was  laid  in  a  little  adjacent 
mountain-gorge  to  which  he  walked  or  rode.  A  fortnight's 
visit  from  Mr.,  now  Lord,  Lytton,  whose  acquaintance  had 
been  made  at  Florence,  in  the  winter  of  1852,  was  also  an 
incident  of  this  summer. 

The  next  three  letters  describe  the  impressions  of  Mrs. 
Browning's  first  winter  in  Rome. 

"  To  Miss  Mitford. 
"  Eome :  43  Via  Bocca  di  Leone,  3°  piano.    Jan.  7,  *54. 
•*.  .  .  Well,  we  are  all  well  to  begin  with — and  have 
been  well — our  troubles  came   to  us   through  sympathy 


1854]  ROBERT   BROWNING  189 

entirely.  A  most  exquisite  journey  of  eight  days  we  had 
from  Florence  to  Rome,  seeing  the  great  monastery  and 
triple  church  of  Assisi  and  the  wonderful  Terni  by  the  way 
■ — that  passion  of  the  waters  which  makes  the  human  heart 
seem  so  still.  In  the  highest  spirits  we  entered  Rome, 
Robert  and  Penini  singing  actually — for  the  child  was 
radiant  and  flushed  with  the  continual  change  of  air  and 
scene.  .  .  .  You  remember  my  telling  you  of  our  friends 
■the  Storys — how  they  and  their  two  children  helped  to 
make  the  summer  go  pleasantly  at  the  Baths  of  Lucca. 
They  had  taken  an  apartment  for  us  in  Rome,  so  that  we 
arrived  in  comfort  to  lighted  fires  and  lamps  as  if  coming 
home, — and  we  had  a  glimpse  of  their  smiling  faces  that 
evening.  In  the  morning  before  breakfast,  little  Edith  was 
brought  over  to  us  by  the  manservant  with  a  message,  "  the 
boy  was  in  convulsions — there  was  danger."  We  hurried 
to  the  house,  of  course,  leaving  Edith  with  Wilson.  Too 
true  I  All  that  first  day  we  spent  beside  a  death-bed  ;  for 
the  child  never  rallied — never  opened  his  eyes  in  conscious- 
ness— and  by  eight  in  the  evening  he  was  gone.  In  the 
meanwhile,  Edith  was  taken  ill  at  our  house — could  not 
be  moved,  said  the  physicians  .  .  .  gastric  fever,  with  a 
tendency  to  the  brain — and  within  two  days  her  Ufe  was 
almost  despaired  of — exactly  the  same  malady  as  her 
brother's.  Also  the  English  nurse  was  apparently  dying 
at  the  Storys'  house,  and  Emma  Page,  the  artist's  youngest 
daughter,  sickened  with  the  same  symptoms. 

"...  To  pass  over  this  dreary  time,  I  will  t«ll  you  at 
once  that  the  three  patients  recovered — only  iu  poor  little 
Edith's  case  Roman  fever  followed  the  gastric,  and  has 
persisted  so,  ever  since,  in  periodical  recurrence,  that  sha 
is  very  pale  and  thin.  Roman  fever  is  not  dangerous  to 
life,  but  it  is  exhausting.  .  .  .  Now  you  will  understand 
Khat  ghastly  flakes  of  death  have  chang'id  the  sense  of 


190  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1854 

Rome  to  me.  The  first  day  by  a  death-bed,  the  first  drive- 
out  to  the  cemetery,  where  poor  little  Joe  is  laid  clo?e  to 
Shelley's  heart  ("Cor  cordium"  says  the  epitaph)  and  where 
the  mother  insisted  on  going  when  she  and  I  went  out  in 
the  carriage  together.  I  am  horribly  weak  about  such 
things — I  can't  look  on  the  earth-side  of  death — I  flinch 
from  corpses  and  graves,  and  never  meet  a  common  funeral 
without  a  sort  of  horror.  When  I  look  deathwards  I  look 
over  death,  and  upwards,  or  I  can't  look  that  way  at  all. 
So  that  it  was  a  struggle  with  me  to  sit  upright  in  that 
carriage  in  which  the  poor  stricken  mother  sat  so  calmly — 
not  to  drop  from  the  seat.  Well — all  this  has  blackened 
Rome  to  me.  I  can't  think  about  the  Cajsars  in  the  old 
strain  of  thought — the  antique  words  get  muddled  and 
blurred  with  warm  dashes  of  modern,  everyday  tears  and 
fresh  grave-clay.  Rome  is  spoilt  to  me — there's  the  truth. 
Still,  one  lives  through  one's  associations  when  not  too 
strong,  and  I  have  arrived  at  almost  enjoying  some  things 
— the  climate,  for  instance,  which,  though  pernicious  to  the 
general  health,  agrees  particularly  with  me,  and  the  sight  of 
the  blue  sky  floating  like  a  sea-tide  through  the  great  gaps 
and  rifts  of  ruins.  .  .  .  We  are  very  comfortably  settled  in 
rooms  turned  to  the  sun,  and  do  work  and  play  by  turns, 
having  almost  too  many  visitors,  hear  excellent  music  at 
Mrs.  Sartoris's  (A.  K.)  once  or  twice  a  week,  and  have 
Fanny  Kemble  to  come  and  talk  to  us  with  the  doors 
shut,  we  three  together.  This  is  pleasant.  I  like  her 
decidedly. 

"  If  anybody  wants  small  talk  by  handf uls  of  glittering 
dust  swept  out  of  salons^  here's  Mr.  Thackeray  besides  I  .  .  ." 

"  Rome :  March  19. 
"...  We  see  a  good  deal  of  the  Kemblea  here,  and 
like  them  both,   especially  the   Fanny,   who    is    looking 


1854]  ROBERT  BROWNING  191 

magnificent  still,  with  her  black  hair  and  radiant  smile.  A 
very  noble  creature  indeed.  Somewhat  unelastic,  unpliant 
to  the  age,  attached  to  the  old  modes  of  thought  and  con- 
vention— but  noble  in  qualities  and  defects.  I  like  hur 
much.  She  thinks  me  credulous  and  full  of  dreams— but 
does  not  despise  me  for  that  reason — which  is  good  and 
tolerant  of  her,  and  pleasant  too,  for  I  should  not  be  quite 
easy  under  her  contempt.  Mrs,  Sartoris  is  genial  and 
generous — her  milk  has  had  time  to  stand  to  cream  in 
her  happy  family  relations,  which  poor  Fanny  Kemble's  has 
not  had.  Mrs.  Sartoris'  house  has  the  best  society  in  Rome 
— and  exquisite  music  of  course.  We  met  Lockhart  there, 
and  my  husband  sees  a  good  deal  of  him — more  than  I  do — 
because  of  the  access  of  cold  weather  lately  which  has  kept 
me  at  home  chiefly.  Robert  went  down  to  the  seaside,  on 
a  day's  excursion  with  him  and  the  Sartorises — and  I  hear 
found  favour  in  his  sight.  Said  the  critic, '  I  like  Browning 
— he  isn't  at  all  like  a  damned  literary  man.'  That's  a  com- 
pliment, I  believe,  according  to  your  dictionary.  It  made 
me  laugh  and  think  of  you  directly.  .  .  .  Robert  has  been 
sitting  for  his  picture  to  Mr.  Fisher,  the  English  ;trtist  who 
painted  Mr.  Kenyon  and  Landor.  You  remember  those 
pictures  in  Mr.  Kenyon's  house  in  London.  Well,  he 
has  painted  Robert,  and  it  is  an  admirable  likeness. 
The  expression  is  an  exceptional  expression,  but  highly 
characteristic.  ..." 

"  May  10. 
"...  To  leave  Rome  will  fill  me  with  barbarian  com- 
placency. I  don't  pretend  to  have  a  rag  of  sentiment  about 
Rome.  It's  a  palimpsest  Rome,  a  watering-place  written 
over  the  antique,  and  I  haven't  taken  to  it  as  a  po^t  should, 
I  suppose  •  only  let  us  speak  the  truth  above  all  things.  J 
am  strongly  a  creature  of  association,  and  the  associations 


192  IJFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [isoi 

of  the  place  have  not  been  personally  favourable  to  me. 
Among  the  rest,  my  child,  the  light  of  my  eyes,  has  been 
more  unwell  than  I  ever  saw  him,  .  .  .  The  pleasantest 
days  in  Eome  we  have  spent  with  the  Kembles,  the  two 
sisters,  who  are  charming  and  excellent,  both  of  them,  in 
different  ways,  and  certainly  they  have  given  us  some  excel- 
lent hours  in  the  Campagna,  upon  picnic  excursions — they, 
and  certain  of  their  friends ;  for  instance,  M.  Ampere,  the 
member  of  the  French  Institute,  who  is  witty  and  agree- 
able, M.  Goltz,  the  Austrian  minister,  also  an  agreeable 
man,  and  Mr.  liyons,  the  son  of  Sir  Edmund,  &c.  The 
talk  was  almost  too  brilliant  for  the  sentiment  of  the 
scenery,  but  it  harmonized  entirely  with  the  mayonnaise 
and  champagne.  ..." 

It  must  have  been  on  one  of  the  excursions  here 
described  that  an  incident  took  place,  which  Mr.  Browning 
relates  with  characteristic  comments  in  a  letter  to  Mrs. 
Fitz-Gerald,  of  July  15,  1882.  The  picnic  party  had 
strolled  away  to  some  distant  spot.  Mrs.  Browning  was 
not  strong  enough  to  join  them,  and  her  husband,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  stayed  with  her  ;  which  act  of  considera- 
tion prompted  Mrs.  Kemble  to  exclaim  that  he  was  the 
only  man  she  had  ever  known  who  behaved  like  a  Christian 
to  his  wife.  Slie  was,  when  he  wrote  this  lette)*,  reading 
his  works  for  the  first  time,  and  bad  expressed  admiration 
for  them  ;  but,  he  continued,  none  of  the  kind  things  she 
Baid  to  him  on  that  subject  could  move  him  as  did  those 
words  in  the  Campagna.  Mrs.  Kemble  would  have  modified 
her  statement  in  later  years,  for  the  sake  of  one  English  and 
one  American  husband  then  closely  related  to  her.  Even 
then,  perhaps,  she  did  not  make  it  without  inward  reserve. 
Bat  she  will  forgive  me,  I  am  sure,  for  having  repeated  it. 


I85ii  ROBERT   BROWNING  193 

Mr.  Browning  also  refers  to  her  Memoirs,  wliich  he  had 
just  read,  and  says  :  "  I  saw  her  in  those  days  muoh  oftener 
than  is  set  down,  but  she  scarcely  noticed  me ;  though 
I  always  liked  her  extremely." 

After  leaving  Rome  towards  the  end  of  May,  Mrs. 
Browning  writes  to  her  sister-in-law  from  Florence  : 

"  To  Miss  Browning. 

"...  A  comfort  is  that  Robert  is  considered  here  to  be 
looking  better  than  he  ever  was  known  to  look.  And  this 
notwithstanding  the  greyuess  of  his  beard,  which  indeed  is, 
in  my  own  mind,  very  bacomiug  to  him,  the  argentine 
touch  giving  a  character  of  elevation  and  thought  to  the 
whole  physiognomy.  This  greyness  was  suddenly  developed  ; 
let  me  tell  you  how.  He  was  in  a  state  of  bilious  irritability 
on  the  morning  of  his  arrival  in  Rome  from  exposure  to  the 
Bun  or  som3  such  cause,  and  in  a  fit  of  suicidal  impatience 
shaved  away  his  whole  beard,  whiskers  and  all  1  I  cried 
when  I  saw  him,  I  was  so  horror-struck.  I  might  have 
gone  into  hysterics  and  still  been  reasonable  ;  for  no  human 
being  was  ever  so  disfigured  by  so  simple  an  act.  Of  course 
I  said,  when  I  recovered  breath  and  voice,  that  everything 
was  at  an  end  between  him  and  me  if  he  didn't  let  it  all 
grow  again  directly,  and  (upon  the  further  advice  of  his 
looking-glass)  he  yielded  the  point,  and  the  beard  grew. 
But  it  grew  ichite,  which  was  the  just  punishment  of  the 
gods — our  sins  leave  their  traces." 

*'  To  Miss  Mifford. 

"  Florence:  Juuo  6,  1854. 

**,  ,  .  "We  mean  to  stay  at  Florence  a  week  or  two 
longer  and  then  go  northward.     I  love  Florence — the  place 

0 


194  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF  [1854^ 

looks  esijuisitely  beautiful  in  its  garden  ground  of  vine- 
yards and  olive  trees,  sung  round  by  the  nightingales  day 
and  night.  ...  If  you  take  one  thing  with  another,  there 
is  no  place  in  the  world  like  Florence,  I  am  persuaded,  for 
a  place  to  live  in — cheap,  tranquil,  cheerful,  beautiful,  within 
the  limits  of  civilization  yet  out  of  the  crush  of  it.  .  .  . 
We  have  spent  two  delicious  evenings  at  villas  outside  the 
gates,  one  with  young  Lytton,  Sir  Edward's  son,  of  whom 
I  have  told  you,  I  think.  I  like  him  ...  we  both 
do  .  .  .  from  the  bottom  of  our  hearts.  Then,  our  friend, 
Frederick  Tennyson,  the  new  poet,  we  are  delighted  to  see 
ERaiu. 


"  Florence  :  Oct.  19, 1854. 

"...  Mrs.  Sartoris  has  been  here  on  her  way  to  Rome, 

spending  most  of  her  time  with  us  .   .  .  singing  passionately 
and  talking  eloquently.     She  is  really  charming.  ..." 

The  northward  journey  to  England  did  not,  after  all, 
come  ofif,  and  throughout  the  summer  of  1854  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Browning  remained  in  Florence,  since  their  income 
was  still  too  limited  for  continuous  travelling.  Of  the 
winter  (the  winter  of  the  Crimean  war,  with  which  much 
of  Mrs.  Browning's  correspondence  is  occupied)  there  ia 
little  to  record.  One  small  publication,  in  which  both  were 
concerned,  belongs  to  this  time.  This  was  a  small  pamphlet, 
containing  Mr.  Browning's  poem,  "  The  Twins,"  and  hia 
wife's  "  Song  for  the  Ragged  Schools  of  London,"  which 
was  their  joint  contribution  to  a  charity  bazaar  in  which 
Miss  Arabel  Barrett  was  interested.  On  January  10,  1855, 
Miss  Mitford,  to  whom  many  of  the  letters  quoted  above 


1855]  nOBERT^ICOWNING  '  195 


lERl^jj^ 

Mrs.  Browi 


were  written,  died.  ]\Trs.  Browning  herself  was  somewhat 
seriously  ill,  but  nevertheless  was  able  to  make  progress 
with  "  Aurora  Leigh  ; "  while  Mr.  Browning  was  com- 
pleting the  preparation  of  "Men  and  Women."  In  the 
summer,  with  their  respective  books  nearly  ready  for 
publication,  they  set  out  for  their  second  long  absence  from 
Italy,  and  reached  London  in  July,  taking  Miss  Browning 
with  them  as  they  passed  through  Paris.  They  did  not 
this  time  take  lodgings  for  the  summer  months,  but  hired  a 
house  at  18  Dor.^et  Street,  Portman  Square  ;  and  there,  on 
September  27,  Tennyson  read  his  new  poem,  Maud,  to  Mrs. 
Browning,  while  Rossetti,  the  only  other  person  present 
besides  the  family,  privately  drew  his  likeness  in  pen  and 
ink.  The  likeness  (now  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  R.  B. 
Browning)  has  become  well  known ;  but  Miss  Browning 
thought  no  one  except  herself,  who  was  near  Eossetti  at  the 
table,  was  at  the  moment  aware  of  its  being  made.  All 
eyes  must  have  been  turned  towards  Tennyson,  seated  by 
his  hostess  on  the  sofa.  Miss  Arabel  Barrett  was  also  of 
the  party. 

The  scene  is  described  in  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Browning 
to  Mrs.  Martin : 

"...  One  of  the  pleasantest  things  which  has  happened 
to  us  here  is  the  coming  down  on  us  of  the  Laureate,  who, 
being  in  London  for  three  or  four  days  from  the  Isle  of 
Wight,  spent  two  of  them  with  us,  dined  with  us,  smoked 
with  us,  opened  his  heart  to  us  (and  the  second  bottle 
of  port),  and  ended  by  reading  '  Maud '  through  from  end 
to  end,  and  going  away  at  half-pasD  two  in  the  morning.  If 
I  had  had  a  heart  to  spare,  certainly  he  would  have  won 
mine.     He  is  captivating  with  his  frankness,  confidingness, 


X 


196      *^      LIFE   AND  JITTERS   OF  [1855 

and  unexampled  naivete.  Think  o^is  stopping  in  '  Maud ' 
every  now  and  then — '  There's  a  wonderful  touch  1  That's 
very  tender.  How  beautiful  that  is  1 '  Yes,  and  it  teas 
wonderful,  tender,  and  beautiful,  and  he  read  exquisitely  in 
a  voice  like  an  organ,  rather  music  than  speecli," 


ROBERT  BROWNING  191 


CHAPTER  XIII 
1855-1858 

Ulen  and  Women — Karshooh — Two  in  the  Campagna — Winter  in 
Paris;  Lady  Elgin — Aurora  Leigh — Death  of  Mr.  Kenyon 
and  Mr.  Barrett — Penini — Mrs.  Browning's  Letters  to  Misa 
Browning  —  The  Florentine  Carnival  —  Baths  of  Lucca — 
Spiritualism — Mr,  Kirkup  ;  Count  Ginnasi — Letter  from  Jlr. 
Browning  to  Mr.  Fox — Havre  and  Paris. 

The  beautiful  One  Word  More  was  dated  from  London  in 
September  ;  and  the  fifty  poems  srathered  together  under 
the  title  of  Men  and  Women  were  published  before  the  close 
of  the  year,  in  two  volumes,  by  Messrs.  Chapman  and  Hall.^ 
They  are  all  familiar  friends  to  Mr.  Browning's  readers,  ir 
their  first  arrangement  and  appearance,  as  in  later  redistribu 
tions  and  reprints  ;  but  one  curious  little  fact  concerning 
them  is  perhaps  not  generally  known.  In  the  eighth  line 
of  the  fourteenth  section  of  One  Word  More  they  were 
made  to  include  Karshook  {Ben  Karshook's  Wisdom),  which 
never  was  placed  amongst  them.  It  was  written  in  April 
1854  ;  and  the  dedication  of  the  volume  must  have  been,  as 
it  so  easily  might  be,  in  existence,  before  the  author  decided 
to  omit  it.     The  wrong  name,  once  given,  was  retained,  I 

*  The  date  is  given  in  the  edition  of  1868  as  London  185- ;  in 
the  Tauchnitz  selection  of  1872,  London  and  Florence  ISi-  and 
185- ;  iu  the  new  English  edition  18i-  and  185-. 


198  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1855 

have  no  doubt,  from  preference  for  its  terminal  sound  ;  and 
Kar shook  only  became  Karshish  in  the  Tauchnitz  copy  of 
1872,  and  in  the  English  edition  about  1879. 

Kar shook  appeared  in  1856  in  The  Keepsake,  edited  by 
Miss  Power  ;  but,  as  we  are  told  on  good  authority,  has 
been  printed  in  no  edition  or  selection  of  the  Poet's  works. 
I  am  therefore  justified  in  inserting  it  here. 


"  "Would  a  man  'scape  the  rod  ?  " 

Rabbi  Ben  Karshook  saith, 
*•  See  that  he  turn  to  God 

The  day  before  his  death." 

"  Ay,  could  a  man  inquire 

When  it  shall  come  !  "  I  say. 
The  Rabbi's  eye  shoots  fire — 

"  Then  let  him  turn  to-day  1*» 

n 

Quoth  a  young  Sadducee  : 

"  Reader  of  many  rolls, 
Is  it  so  certain  we 

Have,  as  they  tell  us,  souls  ?  ** 

"  Son,  there  is  no  reply  ! " 

The  Rabbi  bit  his  beard  : 
"  Certain,  a  soul  have  I — 

We  may  have  none,"  he  sneer'd. 

Thus  Karshook,  the  Hiram's-Hammer, 
The  Right-hand  Temple-column, 

Taught  babes  in  grace  their  grammar, 
And  struck  the  simple,  solemn. 

Among  this  first  collection  of  Men  and  Women  was  the 
poem  called   Two  in  the  Camimgna.     It  is  a  vivid,  yet 


1S55]  ROBERT   BROWNING  199 

enigmatical  little  study  of  a  restless  spirit  tantalized  by 
glimpses  of  repose  in  love,  saddened  and  perplexed  by  the 
manner  in  which  this  eludes  it.  Nothing  that  should 
impress  one  as  more  purely  dramatic  ever  fell  from  Mr. 
Browning's  pen.  We  are  told,  nevertheless,  in  Mr.  Sharp's 
"  Life,"  that  a  personal  character  no  less  actual  than  that  of 
the  Guardian  Angel  has  been  claimed  for  it.  The  writer, 
with  characteristic  delicacy,  evades  all  discussion  of  the 
question  ;  but  he  concedes  a  great  deal  in  his  manner  of 
doing  so.  The  poem,  he  says,  conveys  a  sense  of  that 
necessary  isolation  of  the  individual  soul  which  resists  the 
fusing  power  of  the  deepest  love ;  and  its  meaning  cannot 
be  personally — because  it  is  universally — true.  I  do  not 
think  Mr.  Browning  meant  to  emphasize  this  aspect  of  the 
mystery  of  individual  life,  though  the  poem,  in  a  certain 
sense,  expresses  it.  "We  have  no  reason  to  believe  that  he 
ever  accepted  it  as  constant ;  and  in  no  case  could  he  have 
intended  to  refer  its  conditions  to  himself.  He  was  often 
isolated  by  the  processes  of  his  mind  ;  but  there  was  in  him 
no  barrier  to  that  larger  emotional  sympathy  which  we  think 
of  as  sympathy  of  the  soul.  If  this  poem  were  true.  One 
Word  More  would  be  false,  quite  otherwise  than  in  that 
approach  to  exaggeration  which  is  incidental  to  the  poetic 
form.  The  true  keynote  of  Tiao  in  the  Gampagna  is  the 
pain  of  perpetual  change,  and  of  the  conscious,  though 
unexplained,  predestination  to  it.  Mr.  Browning  could 
have  still  less  in  common  with  such  a  state,  since  one  of 
the  qualities  for  which  he  was  most  conspicuous  was  the 
enormous  power  of  anchorage  which  his  affections  possessed. 
Only  length  of  time  and  variety  of  experience  could  fully 
test  this  power  or  fully  display  it  ;  but  the  signs  of  it  had 


200  LIFE  AND  LETTERS   OF  [1855- 

not  been  absent  from  even  his  earliest  life.  He  loved  fewer 
people  in  youth  than  in  advancing  age  :  nature  and  cir- 
cumstance combined  to  widen  the  range,  and  vary  the 
character  of  his  human  interests  ;  but  where  once  love  or 
friendship  bad  struck  a  root,  only  a  moral  convulsion  could 
avail  to  dislodge  it.  I  make  no  deduction  from  this  state- 
ment when  I  admit  that  the  last  and  most  emphatic  words 
of  the  poem  in  question, 

Only  I  discern— 
Infinite  passion,  and  the  pain 
Of  finite  hearts  that  yearn, 

did  probably  come  from  the  poet's  heart,  as  they  also  found 
a  deep  echo  in  that  of  his  wife,  who  much  loved  them. 

From  London  they  returned  to  Paris  for  the  winter  of 
1855-6.  The  younger  of  the  Kemble  sisters,  Mrs.  Sartoris, 
was  also  there  with  her  family  ;  and  the  pleasant  meetings 
of  the  Campagna  renewed  themselves  for  Mr.  Browning, 
though  in  a  different  form.  He  was  also,  with  his  sister, 
a  constant  visitor  at  Lady  Elgin's.  Both  they  and  Mrs. 
Browning  were  greatly  attached  to  her,  and  she  warmly 
reciprocated  the  feeling.  As  Mr,  Locker's  letter  has  told 
us,  Mr.  Browning  was  in  the  habit  of  reading  poetry  to 
her,  and  when  his  sister  had  to  announce  his  arrival  from 
Italy  or  England,  she  would  say  :  "  Eob  -rt  is  coming  to 
nurse  you,  and  read  to  you."  Lady  Elgin  was  by  this 
time  almost  completely  paralyzed.  Sha  had  lost  the  power 
of  speech,  and  could  only  acknowledge  the  little  attentions 
•which  were  paid  to  her  by  some  graceful  path.etic  gesture 
of  the  left  hand  ;  but  she  retained  her  sensibilities  to  the 
last ;  and  Miss  Browning  received  on  one  occasion  a  serious 


1856]  ROBERT  BROWNING  201 

lesson  in  the  risk  of  ever  assuming  that  the  appearance  of 
unconsciousness  guarantees  its  reality.  Lady  Augusta 
Bruce  had  asked  her,  in  her  mother's  presence,  how  Mrs. 
Browning  was  ;  and,  imagining  that  Lady  Elgin  was  UU" 
able  to  hear  or  understand,  she  had  answered  with  incau- 
tious distinctness,  "  I  am  afraid  she  is  very  ill,"  when  a 
little  sob  from  the  invalid  warned  her  of  her  mistake. 
Lady  Augusta  quickly  repaired  it  by  rejoining,  "  but  she 
is  better  than  she  was,  is  she  not  ?  "  Miss  Browning  of 
course  assented. 

There  were  other  friends,  old  and  new,  whom  Mr. 
Browning  occasionally  saw,  including,  I  need  hardly  say, 
the  celebrated  Madame  Mohl.  In  the  main,  however,  he 
led  a  quiet  life,  putting  aside  many  inducements  to  leave  his 
home.  On  the  literary  side  he  was  engaged  in  a  fruitless 
attempt  to  revise  SordeUo ;  but  he  was  not  writing  much  at 
this  time,  and  the  reaction  after  the  completion  of  Meii 
and  Wome'i  took  the  form  of  devotion  to  quite  another 
branch  of  art.  Mrs.  Browning  writes  to  Mrs.  Jameson  on 
May  2,  1856  : 

"...  He  just  now  has  taken  to  drawing,  and  after 
thirteen  days'  application  has  produced  some  quite  starding 
copies  of  heads.  I  am  very  glad.  He  can't  rest  from 
serious  work  in  light  literature,  as  I  can  ;  it  wearies  him, 
and  there  are  hours  which  are  on  his  hands,  which  is  bad 
both  fur  them  and  for  him.  The  secret  of  life  is  in  fall 
occupation,  isn't  it  ?  This  world  is  not  tenable  on  other 
terms.  So  while  I  lie  on  the  sofa  and  rest  in  a  novel, 
Robert  has  a  resource  in  his  drawing  ;  and  really,  with  all 
his  feeliijg  and  knowledge  of  art,  some  of  the  mechanical 
trick  of  it  cannot  be  out  of  place.  ..." 


202  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1856 

Mrs.  Browning  was  then  writing  Aurora  Leigh,  and  her 
husband  must  have  been  more  than  ever  impressed  by  her 
power  of  work,  as  displayed  by  her  manner  of  working. 
To  him,  as  to  most  creative  writers,  perfect  quiet  was  in- 
dispensable to  literary  production.  She  wrote  in  pencil,  on 
scraps  of  paper,  as  she  lay  on  the  sofa  in  her  sitting-room, 
open  to  interruption  from  chance  visitors,  or  from  her 
little  omnipresent  son  ;  simply  hiding  the  paper  beside  her 
if  anyone  came  in,  and  taking  it  up  again  when  she  was 
free.  And  if  this  process  was  conceivable  in  the  large, 
comparatively  sileuJt  ..spaces  of  their  Italian  home,  and 
amidst  habits  of  life  which  reserved  social  intercourse  for 
the  close  of  the  working  day,  it  baffles  belief  when  one 
thinks  of  it  as  carried  on  in  the  conditions  of  a  Parisian 
winter,  and  the  little  salon  of  the  apartment  in  the  Rue  du 
Colisee  in  which  those  months  were  spent.  The  poem  was 
completed  in  the  ensuing  summer,  in  Mr.  Kenyou's  London 
house,  and  dedicated,  October  17,  in  deeply  pathetic  words 
to  that  faithful  friend,  whom  the  writer  saw  for  the  last 
time  during  a  visit  paid  to  the  Isle  of  Wight  in  September, 
when  they  stayed  first  with  Miss  Arabel  Barrett  at  Ventnor, 
and  then  with  Mr.  Kenyon  at  West  Cowes. 

The  news  of  his  death,  which  took  place  on  December 
3,  1856,  reached  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning  in  Florence,  to  be 
followed  in  the  spring  by  that  of  Mrs.  Browning's  father.^ 
Husband  and  wife  had  both  determined  to  forego  any 
pecuniary  benefit  which  might  accrue  to  them  from  this 
event ;  but  they  were  not  called  upon  to  exercise  their 
powers  of  renunciation.     By  Mr.  Kenyon's  will  they  were 

'  [On  this  event,  see  Browning's  letter  to  Mrs.  Martin,  printed  in 
the  Letters  0/  E.  B.  B.,  ii.  263.  ] 


I85G]  ROBERT   BROWNING  21 

the  richer,  as  is  now,  I  think,  generally  known,  the  one  by 
£6500,  the  other  by  £i500.^  Of  that  cousin's  long  kind- 
ness Mrs.  Browning  could  scarcely  in  after  days  trust  herself 
to  speak.  It  was  difficult  to  her,  she  said,  even  to  write 
his  name  without  tears. 

I  have  alkiJed,  perhaps  tardily,  to  Mr.  Browning's  son, 
a  sociable  little  being  who  for  some  time,  as  Mrs.  Brown- 
ing's letters  show,  had  been  playing  a  prominent  part  in 
his  parents'  Uves.  I  saw  him  for  the  first  time  in  this 
winter  of  1855-G,  and  remember  the  grave  expression  of 
the  Httle  round  face,  the  outline  of  which  was  common,  at 
all  events  in  childhood,  to  all  the  members  of  his  mother's 
family,  and  was  conspicuous  in  her,  if  we  may  trust  an 
early  portrait  which  has  recently  come  to  light.  He  wore 
the  curling  hair  to  which  she  refers  in  a  later  letter,  and 
pretty  frocks  and  frills,  in  which  she  delighted  to  clothe 
him.  It  is  on  record  that,  on  one  of  the  journeys  of  this 
year,  a  trunk  was  temporarily  lost  which  contained  Peni's 
embroidered  trousers,  and  the  MS.,  whole  or  in  part,  of 
Aurora  Leigh;  and  that  Mrs.  Browning  had  scarcely  a 
thought  to  spare  for  her  poem,  in  face  of  the  damage  to 
her  little  boy's  appearance  which  the  accident  involved. 

How  he  came  by  his  familiar  name  of  Peniui — hence 
Peni,  and  Pen — neither  signifies  in  itself,  nor  has  much 
bearing  on  his  father's  family  history  ;  but  I  cannot  re- 
frain from  a  word  of  comment  on  j\[r.  Hawthorne's  fantastic 
conjecture,  which  has  been  asserted  and  reasserted  in  oppo- 
sition to  Mr.  Browning's  own  statement  of  the  case. 
According  to  Mr.  Hawthorne,  the  name  was  derived  from 

*  Mr.  Kenyon  had  considerable  wealth,  derived,  like  Mx.  Barrett's, 
irom  West  Indian  estates. 


20i  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1858 

\^  Apennino,  and  bestowed  on  the  child  in  babyhood,  because 
Apennino  was  a  colossal  statue,  and  he  was  so  very  small. 
It  would  be  strange  indeed  that  any  joke  connecting 
"Baby"  with  a  given  colosud  statue  should  have  found  its 
way  into  the  family  without  father,  mother,  or  nurse  being 
aware  of  it ;  or  that  any  joke  should  have  been  accepted 
there  which  implied  that  the  little  boy  was  not  of  normal 
size.  But  the  fact  is  still  more  unanswerable  that  Apen- 
nino could  by  no  process  congenial  to  the  Italian  language 
be  converted  into  Penini.  Its  inevitable  abbreviation 
would  be  Pennino  with  a  distinct  separate  sounding  of  the 
central  n's,  or  Nino.  The  accentuation  of  Penini  is  also 
distinctly  German. 

During  the  winter  in  Paris  (1855-6),  little  "Wiedemann, 
as  his  parents  tried  to  call  him — his  full  name  was  Eobart 
Wiedemann  Barrett — had  developed  a  decided  turn  for 
blank  verse.  He  would  extemporize  short  poems,  singing 
them  to  his  mother,  who  wrote  them  down  as  he  sang. 
There  is  no  less  proof  of  his  having  possessed  a  talent  for 
music,  though  it  first  naturally  showed  itself  in  the  love 
of  a  cheerful  noise.  His  father  had  once  sat  down  to  the 
piano,  for  a  serious  study  of  some  piece,  when  the  little 
boy  appeared,  with  the  evident  intention  of  joining  in  the 
performance.  Mr.  Browning  rose  precipitately,  and  was 
about  to  leave  the  room.  "  Oh  1 "  exclaimed  the  hurt 
mother,  "you  are  going  away,  and  he  has  brought  his 
three  drums  to  accompany  you  upon."  She  herself  would 
undoubtedly  have  endured  the  mixed  melody  for  a  little 
time,  though  her  husband  did  not  think  she  seriously 
wished  him  to  do  so.  But  if  he  did  not  play  the  piano 
to  the  accompaniment  of  Pen's  drums,  he  played  piano 


1856]  ROBERT  BROWNING  205 

duets  with  him  as  soon  as  the  boy  was  old  enough  to  take 
part  in  them ;  and  devoted  himself  to  his  instruction  in 
this,  as  in  other  and  more  important  branches  of  knoi^ledge. 

Peni  had  also  his  dumb  companions,  as  his  father  had 
had  before  him.  Tortoises  lived  at  one  end  of  the  famous 
balcony  at  Casa  Guidi ;  and  when  the  family  were  at  the 
Baths  of  Lucca,  Mr.  Browning  would  stow  away  little 
snakes  in  his  bosom,  and  produce  them  for  the  child's 
amusement.  As  the  child  grew  into  a  man,  the  love  of 
animals  which  he  had  inherited  became  conspicuous  in 
him ;  and  it  gave  rise  to  many  amusing  and  some  pathetic 
little  episodes  of  his  artist  life.  The  creatures  which  he 
gathered  about  him  were  generally,  I  think,  more  highly 
organized  than  those  which  elicited  his  father's  peculiar 
tenderness ;  it  was  natural  that  he  should  exact  more 
pictorial  or  more  companionable  qualities  from  them.  But 
father  and  son  concurred  in  the  fondness  for  snakes,  and 
in  a  singular  predilection  for  owls  ;  and  they  had  not  been 
long  established  in  "Warwick  Crescent,  when  a  bird  of  that 
family  was  domesticated  there.  We  shall  hear  of  it  in  a 
letter  from  Mr.  Browning. 

Of  his  son's  moral  quality  as  quite  a  little  child  his 
father  has  told  me  pretty  and  very  distinctive  stories, 
but  they  would  be  out  of  place  here.^ 

1  I  am  induced,  on  second  thoughts,  to  subjoin  one  of  these,  for 
its  testimony  to  the  moral  atmosphere  into  which  the  child  had 
been  born.  He  was  sometimes  allow#i  to  play  with  a  little  boy  not 
of  his  own  class — perhaps  the  son  of  a  contadino.  The  child  waa 
unobjectionable,  or  neither  Penini  nor  his  parents  would  have  en- 
dured the  association  ;  but  the  servants  once  thought  themselvea 
justified  in  treating  him  cavalierly,  and  Pen  flew  indignant  to  his 
mother,  to  complain  of  their  behaviour.     Mrs.  Browning  at  onc« 


206  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1857 

Mrs.  Browning  had  long  been  in  the  habit  of  writing 
independent  letters  to  her  sister-in-law,  some  of  which  have 
already  been  quoted.  The  buoyancy  of  tone  which  has 
habitually  marked  her  communications,  but  which  failed 
during  the  winter  in  Eome,  reasserts  itself  in  the  following 
extract.  Her  maternal  comments  on  Peni  and  his  perfec- 
tions have  hitherto  been  so  carefully  excluded,  that  a  brief 
allusion  to  him  may  be  allowed  on  the  present  occasion. 

[Feb.  1857.] 

"  My  dearest  Sarianna,  .  .  .  Here  is  Penini's  letter, 
which  takes  up  so  much  room  that  I  must  be  sparing  of 
mine — and,  by  the  way,  if  you  consider  him  improved  in 
his  writing,  give  the  praise  to  Robert,  who  has  been  taking 
most  patient  pains  with  him  indeed.  You  will  see  how  the 
little  curly  head  is  turned  with  carnival  doings.  So  gay  a 
carnival  never  was  in  our  experience,  for  until  last  year 
(when  we  were  absent)  all  masks  had  been  prohibited,  and 
now  everybody  has  eaten  of  the  tree  of  good  and  evil  till 
not  an  apple  is  left.  Peni  persecuted  me  to  let  him  have 
a  domino — with  tears  and  embraces — he  '  almost  never  in 
all  his  life  had  had  a  domino,'  and  he  would  like  it  so. 
Not  a  black  domino  !  no — he  hated  black — but  a  blue 
domino,  trimmed  with  pink !  that  was  his  taste.  The 
pink  trimming  I  coaxed  him  out  of,  but  for  the  rest,  I 
let  him  have  his  way.  .  .  .  For  my  part,  the  universal 
madness  reached  me  sitting  by  the  fire  (whence  I  had  not 

Bought  little  Alessandro,  with  kind  words  and  a  large  piece  of  cake  ; 
but  this,  in  Pen's  eyes,  only  aggravated  the  ofience ;  it  was  a  direct 
reflection  on  his  visitor's  quality.  "  He  doesn't  tome  for  take,"  he 
burst  forth  ;  "  he  tomes  because  he  is  my  friend."  How  often,  since 
I  heard  this  first,  have  we  repeated  the  words,  "  he  doesn't  tome  for 
take,"  in  half-serious  definition  of  a  disinterested  person  or  actf 
They  became  a  standing  joke. 


1857]  ROBERT   BROWNING  207 

Btirred  for  three  months),  and  you  will  open  your  eyes 
when  I  tell  you  that  I  went  (in  domino  and  masked)  to 
tlie  great  opera-ball.  Yes  I  I  did,  really.  Robert,  who 
had  been  invited  two  or  three  times  to  other  people's 
boxos,  had  proposed  to  return  their  kindness  by  taking  a 
box  himself  at  the  opera  this  night,  and  entertaining  two 
or  three  friends  with  galantine  and  champagne.  Just  as 
he  and  I  were  lamenting  the  impossibility  of  my  going, 
on  that  very  morning  the  wind  changed,  the  air  grew  soft 
and  mild,  and  he  maintained  that  I  might  and  should  go. 
There  was  no  time  to  get  a  domino  of  my  own  (Robert 
himself  had  a  beautiful  one  made,  and  I  am  having  it 
metamorphosed  into  a  black  silk  gown  for  myself  1)  so  I 
sent  out  and  hired  one,  buying  the  mask.  And  very  much 
amused  I  was.  I  like  to  see  these  characteristic  things. 
(I  shall  never  rest,  Sarianna,  till  I  risk  my  reputation  at 
the  b(tl  cU  Vopcra  at  Paris.)  Do  you  think  I  was  satisfied 
with  staying  in  the  box  ?  No,  indeed.  Down  I  went,  and 
Robert  and  I  elbowed  our  way  through  the  crowd  to  the 
remotest  corner  of  the  ball  below.  Somebody  smote  me 
on  the  shoulder  and  cried,  '  Bella  Mascherina ! '  and  I 
answered  as  impudently  as  one  feels  under  a  mask.  At 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  however,  I  had  to  give  up 
and  come  away  (being  overcome  by  the  heavy  air),  and 
ingloriously  left  Robert  and  our  friends  to  follow  at  half- 
past  four.  Think  of  the  refinement  and  gentleness — yes, 
I  must  call  it  siqieriorifij — of  this  people,  when  no  excess, 
no  quarrelling,  no  rudeness  nor  coarseness  can  be  observed 
in  the  course  of  such  wild  masked  liberty  ;  not  a  touch  of 
licence  anywhere,  and  perfect  social  equality  !  Our  servant 
Ferdinando  side  by  side  in  the  same  ball-room  with  the  ^ 
Grand  Duke,  and  no  class's  delicacy  offended  against !  For 
the  Grand  Duke  went  down  into  tlie  ball-room  for  a  short 
time.  ..." 


208  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1857 

The  summer  of  1857  saw  the  family  once  more  at  the 
Baths  of  Lucca,  and  again  in  company  with  Mr.  Lytton. 
He  had  fallen  ill  at  the  house  of  their  common  friend,  Miss 
Blagden,  also  a  visitor  there  ;  and  Mr.  Browning  shared  in 
the  nursing,  of  which  she  refused  to  entrust  any  part  to  less 
friendly  hands.  He  sat  up  with  the  invalid  for  four  nights  ; 
and  would  doubtless  have  done  so  for  as  many  more  as 
seemed  necessary,  but  that  Mrs,  Browning  protested  against 
this  trifling  with  his  own  health.  A  letter  from  Mr. 
Browning  to  his  sister  refers  to  this  incident,  and  describes 
the  general  course  of  the  holiday. 

"  Bagni  di  Lucca :  Aug.  18  [1857]. 

*' .  .  .  Lytton  arrived  unwell,  got  worse  soon,  and  last 
Friday  week  was  laid  up  with  a  sort  of  nervous  fever,  caused 
by  exposure  to  the  sun,  or  something,  acting  on  his  nervous 
frame ;  since  then  he  has  been  very  ill  in  bed — doctor, 
anxiety,  etc.,  as  you  may  suppose  ;  they  are  exactly  opposite 
us,  at  twelve  or  fifteen  feet  distance  only.  Through  senti- 
mentality and  economy  combined,  Isa  wo«ld  have  no  nurse 
(an  imbecile  arrangement),  and  all  has  been  done  by  her, 
with  me  to  help  ;  I  have  sate  up  four  nights  out  of  the  last 
five,  and  sometimes  been  there  nearly  all  day  beside.  .  .  . 
Imagine  what  a  pleasant  holiday  we  all  have  1  Otherwise 
this  place  is  very  beautiful,  and  cool  exceedingly.  We  have 
done  nothing  notable  yet,  but  all  are  very  well,  Peni  particu- 
larly so  ;  as  for  me,  I  bathe  in  the  river,  a  rapid  little 
mountain  stream,  every  morning  at  6^,  and  find  such  good 
from  the  practice  that  I  shall  continue  it,  and  whatever  I 
can  get  as  like  it  as  possible,  to  the  end  of  my  days,  I  hope ; 
the  strength  of  all  sorts  therefrom  accruing  is  wonderful : 
I  thought  the  shower  baths  perfection,  but  this  is  far  above 


1857]  ROBERT  BROWNING  209 

it.  .  .  .  How  is  Milsand  ?    Pray  always  remember  my  best 
love  to  him." 

For  some  time  past  (since  about  1852,  when  the  topic 
came  into  vogue  generally)  Mrs.  Browning  had  been  keenly 
interested  in  spiritualism,  and  her  letters  abound  with  refer- 
ences to  the  phenomena  presented  by  the  "  mediums."  On 
this  subject  her  husband  did  not  share  her  views.  Mrs. 
Browning  held  doctrines  which  prepared  her  to  accept  any 
real  or  imagined  phenomena  betokening  intercourse  with 
the  spirits  of  the  dead ;  nor  could  she  be  repelled  by 
anything  grotesque  or  trivial  in  the  manner  of  this  inter- 
course, because  it  was  no  part  of  her  belief  that  a  spirit  still 
inhabiting  the  atmosphere  of  our  earth  should  exhibit  any 
dignity  or  solemnity  not  belonging  to  him  while  he  lived 
upon  it.  Mr.  Browning  found  himself  compelled  to  witness 
some  of  the  "  manifestations."  He  was  keenly  alive  to  their 
generally  prosaic  and  irreverent  character,  and  to  the  appear- 
ance of  jugglery  which  was  then  involved  in  them.  He 
absolutely  denied  the  good  faith  of  all  the  persons  con- 
cerned. Mrs.  Browning  as  absolutely  believed  it ;  and  no 
compromise  between  them  was  attainable,  bee  luse,  strangely 
enough,  neither  of  them  admitted  as  possible  that  mediums 
or  witnesses  should  deceive  themselves.  The  personal  aspect 
which  the  question  thus  received  brought  it  into  closer  and 
more  painful  contact  with  their  daily  life.  They  might 
agree  to  differ  as  to  the  abstract  merits  of  spiritualism  ; 
but  Mr,  Browning  could  not  resign  himself  to  his  wife's 
trustful  attitude  towards  some  of  the  individuals  who  at 
that  moment  represented  it.  He  may  have  had  no  sub- 
stantial fear  of  her  doing  anything  that  could  place  her  in 

P 


230  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [i857 

their  power,  though  a  vague  dread  of  this  seems  to  have 
haunted  him  ;  but  ho  chafed  against  the  public  association 
of  her  name  with  theirs.  Both  his  love  for  and  his  pride 
in  her  resented  it.^ 

He  had  subsided  into  a  more  judicial  frame  of  mind 
when  he  wrote  Sludge  the  Medium,  in  which  he  says  every- 
thing which  can  excuse  the  liar  and,  what  is  still  more 
remarkable,  modify  the  lie.  So  far  back  as  the  autumn  of 
1860  I  heard  him  discuss  the  trickery  which  he  believed 
himself  to  have  witnessed,  as  dispassionately  as  any  other 
non-credulous  person  might  have  done  so.  The  expeiience 
must  even  before  that  have  passed  out  of  the  foreground  of 
his  conjugal  life.  He  remained,  nevertheless,  subject,  for 
many  years,  to  gusts  of  uncontrollable  emotion  which  would 
sweep  over  him  whenever  the  question  of  "  spirits "  or 
"  spiritualism  "  was  revived  ;  and  we  can  only  understand 
this  in  connection  with  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  the 
case.  With  all  his  faith  in  the  future,  with  all  his  con- 
stancy to  the  past,  the  memory  of  pain  was  stronger  in  him 
than  any  other.  A  single  discordant  note  in  the  harmony 
of  that  married  love,  though  merged  in  its  actual  existence, 
would  send  intolerable  vibrations  through  his  remembrance 
of  it.  Mr.  Browning  never  denied  the  abstract  possibility 
of  spiritual  communication  with  either  living  or  dead  ;  he 

'  [The  full  extent  of  the  divergence  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning's 
views  is  well  shown  in  the  letters  which  each  wrote  in  the  summer 
of  1855  to  Miss  de  Gaudrian,  printed  in  Mr.  P.  Lubbock's  Elizabeth 
Barrett  Browning  in  her  Letters,  1906,  p.  353.  Mrs.  Orr,  in  the  first 
edition  of  the  present  work,  spoke  of  "  serious  diSerence  "  ;  but  Mrs. 
Browning's  letters  show  that  this  is  a  misleading  phrase.  He  dis- 
liked intensely  much  of  the  spiritualistic  paraphernalia,  and  his 
wife's  association  with  it ;  but  no  discord  marred  the  harmony  of 
his  married  life.] 


1857)  ROBERT   BROWNING  211 

only  denied  that  such  communication  had  ever  been  proved, 
or  that  any  useful  end  could  be  subserved  by  it.  The 
tremendous  potentialities  of  hypnotism  and  thought-reading, 
now  passing  into  the  region  of  science,  were  not  then  so 
remote  but  that  an  imagination  like  his  must  have  fore- 
shadowed them.  The  natural  basis  of  the  seemingly  super- 
natural had  not  yet  entered  into  discussion.  He  may,  from 
the  first,  have  suspected  the  existence  of  some  mysterious 
force,  dangerous  because  not  understood,  and  for  this  reason 
doubly  liable  to  fall  into  dangerous  hands.  And  if  this  was 
so,  he  would  necessarily  regard  the  whole  system  of  mani- 
festations with  an  apprehensive  hostility,  which  was  not 
entire  negation,  but  which  rebvjlled  against  any  effort  on  the 
part  of  others,  above  all  of  those  he  loved,  to  interpret  it 
into  assent.  The  pain  and  anger  which  could  be  aroused  in 
him  by  an  indication  on  the  part  of  a  valued  friend  of  even 
an  important  interest  in  the  subject  points  especially  to  the 
latter  conclusion. 

He  often  gave  an  instance  of  the  tricks  played  in  the 
name  of  spiritualism  on  credulous  persons,  which  may  amuse 
those  who  have  not  yet  heard  it.  I  give  the  story  as  it 
survives  in  the  fresher  memory  of  ]\Ir.  Val  Prinsep,  who 
also  received  it  from  Mr.  Browning. 


"  At  Florence  lived  a  curious  old  savant  who  in  his  day 
was  well  known  to  all  who  cared  for  art  or  history.  I  fear 
now  few  live  who  recollect  Kirkup.  He  was  quite  a  mine 
of  information  on  all  kinds  of  forgotten  lore.  It  was  he 
who  discovered  Giotto's  portrait  of  Dante  in  the  Bargello. 
Speaking  of  some  friend,  he  said,  'He  is  a  most  ignorant 
fellow  I     Why,  he  does  not  know  how  to  cast  a  horoscope !  * 


212  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1857 

Of  him  Browniifg  told  me  the  following  story.  Kirkup 
was  much  taken  up  with  spiritualism,  in  which  he  firmly 
believed.  One  day  Browning  called  on  him  to  borrow  a 
book.  He  rang  loudly  at  the  storey,  for  he  knew  Kirkup, 
like  Landor,  was  quite  deaf.  To  his  astonishment  the  door 
opened  at  once  and  Kirkup  appeared. 

"  '  Come  in,'  he  cried  ;  '  the  spirits  told  me  there  was 
some  one  at  the  door.  Ah !  I  know  you  do  nob  believe  ! 
Come  and  see.    Mariana  is  in  a  trance  I ' 

"  Browning  entered.  In  the  middle  room,  full  of  all 
kinds  of  curious  objects  of  '  vertu,'  stood  a  handsome 
peasant  girl,  with  her  eyes  fixed  as  though  she  were  in  a 
trance. 

" '  You  see,  Browning,'  said  Kirkup,  '  she  is  quite 
insensible,  and  has  no  will  of  her  own.  Mariana,  hold  up 
your  arm.' 

"  The  woman  slowly  did  as  she  was  bid. 

" '  She  cannot  take  it  down  till  I  tell  her,'  said 
Kirkup. 

"  '  Very  curious,'  observed  Browning.  '  Meanwhile  I 
have  come  to  ask  you  to  lend  me  a  book.' 

"  Ku'kup,  as  soon  as  he  was  made  to  hear  what  book 
was  wanted,  said  he  should  be  delighted. 

*' '  Wait  a  bit.     It  is  in  the  next  room.' 

"  The  old  man  shuffled  out  at  the  door.  No  sooner  had 
be  disappeared  than  the  woman  turned  to  Browning, 
winked,  and  putting  down  her  arm  leaned  it  on  his 
shoulder.  When  Kirkup  returned  she  resumed  her  position 
and  rigid  look. 

" '  Here  is  the  book,'  said  Kirkup.  '  Isn't  it  wonder- 
ful ? '  he  added,  pointing  to  the  woman. 

" '  Wonderful,'  agreed  Browning  as  he  left  the  room. 

"  The  woman  and  her  family  made  a  good  thing  of  poor 
Kirkup's  spiritualism." 


1857]  ROBERT  BROWNING  213 

Something  much  more  remarkable  in  reference  to  this 
subject  happened  to  the  poet  himself  during  his  residence 
in  Florence.  It  is  related  in  a  letter  to  the  Spectator,  dated 
January  30,  1869,  and  signed  J.  S.  K. 

"  Mr.  Robert  Browning  tells  me  that  when  he  was  in 
Florence  some  years  since,  an  Italian  nobleman  (a  Count 
Ginnasi  of  Ravenna),  visiting  at  Florence,  was  brought  to 
his  house  without  previous  introduction,  by  an  intimate 
friend.  The  Count  professed  to  have  great  mesmeric  and 
clairvoyant  faculties,  and  declared,  in  reply  to  Mr.  Brown- 
ing's avowed  scepticism,  that  he  would  undertake  to  convince 
him  somehow  or  other  of  his  powers.  He  then  asked  Mr. 
Browning  whether  he  had  anything  about  him  then  and 
there,  which  he  could  hand  to  him,  and  which  was  in  any 
way  a  relic  or  memento.  This  Mr.  Browning  thought  was 
perhaps  because  he  habitually  wore  no  sort  of  trinket  or 
ornament,  not  even  a  watchguard,  and  might  therefore  turn 
out  to  be  a  safe  challenge.  But  it  so  happened  that,  by  a 
curious  accident,  he  was  then  wearing  under  his  coat-sleeves 
some  gold  wrist-studs  which  he  had  quite  recently  taken 
into  wear,  in  the  absence  (by  mistake  of  a  sempstress)  of 
his  ordinary  wrist-buttons.  He  had  never  before  worn 
them  in  Florence  or  elsewhere,  and  had  found  them  in 
some  old  drawer  where  they  had  lain  forgotten  for  years. 
One  of  these  studs  he  took  out  and  handed  to  the  Count, 
who  held  it  in  his  hand  a  while,  looking  earnestly  in  Mr. 
Browning's  face,  and  then  he  said,  as  if  much  impressed, 
*  Ce  qimlche  cosa  che  mi  grida  neW  orccrhio  "  Uccisione  1 
uccisione  !  " '  ('  There  is  something  here  which  cries  out  in 
my  ear,  "  Murder  !  murder  1 "  ') 

" '  And  truly,'  says  Mr.  Browning,  '  those  very  studs 
were  taken  from  the  dead  body  of  a  great  uncle  of  mine" 


214  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1S58 

who  was  violently  killed  on  his  estate  in  St.  Kitts,  nearly 
eighty  years  ago.  .  .  .  The  occurrence  of  my  great  uncle's 
miu'der  was  known  only  to  myself  of  all  men  in  Florence, 
as  certainly  was  also  my  possession  of  the  studs.' " 

A  letter  from  the  poet,  of  July  21,  1883,  affirms  that 
the  account  is  correct  in  every  particular,  adding,  "  My  own 
explanation  of  the  matter  has  been  that  the  shrewd  Italian 
felt  his  way  by  the  involuntary  help  of  my  own  eyes  and 
face."  The  story  has  been  reprinted  in  the  Reports  of  the 
Psychical  Society. 

A  pleasant  piece  of  news  came  to  brighten  the  January 
of  1858.  Mr.  Fox  was  returned  for  Oldham,  and  at  once 
wrote  to  announce  the  fact.  He  was  answered  in  a  joint 
letter  from  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning,  interesting  throughout, 
but  of  which  only  the  second  part  is  quite  suited  for  present 
insertion. 

Mrs.  Browning,  who  writes  first  and  at  most  length, 
ends  by  saying  she  must  leave  a  space  for  Robert,  that  Mr, 
Fox  may  be  compensated  for  reading  all  she  has  had  to 
say.    The  husband  continues  as  follows : — 

..."  A  space  for  Robert "  who  has  taken  a  breathing 
space — hardly  more  than  enough — to  recover  from  his 
delight ;  he  won't  say  surprise,  at  your  letter,  dear  Mr. 
Fox.  But  it  is  all  right  and,  like  you,  I  wish  from  my 
heart  we  could  get  close  together  again,  as  in  those  old  days, 
and  what  times  we  would  have  here  in  Italy  I  The 
realization  of  the  children's  prayer  of  angels  at  the  corner 
of  your  bed  (i.e.  sofa),  one  to  read  and  one  (my  wife)  to 
write,^   and  both  to  guard  you    through  the    night    of 

1  Mr.  Fox  much  liked  to  be  read  to,  and  was  in  the  habit  of 
writing  his  articles  by  dictation. 


1858]  ROBERT   BROWNING  215 

lodging-keeper's  extortions,  abominable  charges  for  firing, 
and  so  on.  (Observe,  to  c.ill  oneself  "  an  angel "  in  this 
land  is  rather  humble,  where  they  are  apt  to  be  painted  as 
plumed  cut-throats  or  celestial  police— you  say  of  G-abriel 
at  his  best  and  blithesomest,  "  Shouldn't  admire  meeting 
liim  in  a  narrow  lane  !  ") 

I  say  this  foolishly  just  because  I  can't  trust  myself  to 
be  earnest  about  it.  I  would,  you  know  I  would,  always 
would,  choose  you  out  of  the  whole  English  world  to  judge 
and  correct  what  I  write  myself ;  my  wife  shall  read  this 
and  let  it  stand  if  I  have  told  her  so  these  twelve  years — 
and  certainly  I  have  not  grown  intellectually  an  inch  over 
the  good  and  kind  hand  you  extended  over  my  head  how 
many  years  ago  !     Now  it  goes  over  my  wife's  too. 

How  was  it  Tottie  never  came  here  as  she  promised  ? 
Is  it  to  be  some  other  timo  ?  Do  think  of  Florence,  if 
ever  you  feel  chilly,  and  hear  quantities  about  the  Princess 
Royal's  marriage,  and  want  a  change.  I  hate  the  thought 
of  leaving  Italy  for  one  day  more  than  I  can  help — and 
satisfy  my  English  predilecLions  by  newspapers  and  a  book 
or  two.  One  gets  nothing  of  that  kind  here,  but  the  stuff 
out  of  which  books  grow, — it  lies  about  one's  feet  indeed. 
Yet  for  me,  there  would  be  one  book  better  than  any  now 
to  be  got  here  or  elsewhere,  and  all  out  of  a  great  English 
head  and  heart, — those  "  Memoirs  "  you  engaged  to  give 
us.     Will  you  give  us  them  ? 

Good-bye  now — if  ever  the  whim  strikes  you  to  "  make 
beggars  happy  "  remember  us. 

Love  to  Tottie,  and  love  and  gratitude  to  you,  dear  Mr. 
Fox, 

From  yours  ever  affectionately, 

Robert  Browxing. 

In  the  summer  of  this  year,  the  poet  with  his  wife  and 


216  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1858 

child  joined  his  father  and  sister  at  Paris  and  Havre.    It 
was  the  last  time  they  were  all  to  be  together. 

At  Paris  they  had  a  last  sight  of  Lady  Elgin,  described 
by  Mrs.  Browning  in  a  letter  to  Miss  Haworth. 

"  Havre :  July  23,  1858. 

"...  Just  as  we  arrived  in  Paris,  dear  Lady  Elgin  had 
another  '  stroke,'  and  was  all  but  gone.  She  rallied,  how- 
ever, with  her  wonderful  vitality,  and  we  left  her  sitting  in 
her  garden,  fixed  to  the  chair,  of  course,  and  not  able  to 
speak  a  word,  nor  even  to  gesticulate  distinctly,  but  with 
the  eloquent  soul  full  and  radiant,  alive  to  both  worlds. 
Robert  and  I  sat  there,  talking  politics  and  on  other  sub- 
jects, and  there  she  sat  and  let  no  word  drop  unanswered 
by  her  bright  eyes  and  smile.  It  was  a  beautiful  sight. 
Robert  fed  her  with  a  spoon  from  her  soup-plate,  and  she 
signed,  as  well  as  she  could,  that  he  should  kiss  her  forehead 
before  he  went  away.  She  was  always  so  fond  of  Robert, 
as  women  are  apt  to  be,  you  know, — even  /,  a  little  I  ,  .  ." 


ROBERT  BROWNING  217 


CHAPTER  XIV 
1858-1861 

Winter  in  Rome — Visit  of  the  Prince  of  Wales — Mrs,  Browning's 
Illness — Siena — Letter  from  Mr,  Browning  to  Mr.  Leighton — 
Mrs.  Browning's  Letters  continued — Walter  Savage  Landor — 
Winter  in  Rome — Mr.  Val  Prinsep  —  Friends  in  Rome  :  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Cartwright — Multiplying  Social  Relations — Massimo 
d'Azeglio — Siena  again — Illness  and  death  of  Mrs.  Browning's 
Sister — Mr.  Browning's  Occupations — Madame  du  Quaire — 
Mrs.  Browning's  last  Illness  and  Death. 

In  October  the  Brownings  returned  to  Florence,  and 
towards  the  end  of  November  moved  to  Rome  for  the 
winter,  taking  up  their  quarters  once  more  at  No.  43,  Via 
Bocca  di  Leone.  Here  they  had  as  companions  Frederic 
Leighton  (the  future  P.  R.  A.),  Mr.  Cartwright,  and  a  group 
of  Americans,  including  the  Storys,  the  Pages,  the  Haw- 
thornes,  Miss  Cushman,  and  Miss  Hosmer. 

l^Irs.  Browning  reports  of  her  husband  (to  Miss  Blagden) 

"  He  is  extremely  well  just  now,  to  speak  generally,  and 
that  this  habit  of  regular  exercise  [daily  walks],  with 
occasional  homoeopathy,  has  thrown  him  into  a  striking 
course  of  prosperity,  as  to  looks,  sphits,  and  appetite.     He 


218  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1859 

eats  '  vulpinely,'  he  says, — which  means  that  a  lark  or  two 
is  no  longer  enough  for  dinner.  At  breakfast  the  loaf 
perishes  by  Gargantuan  slices.  He  is  plunged  into  gaieties 
of  all  sorts,  caught  from  one  hand  to  another  like  a  ball, 
has  gone  out  every  night  for  a  fortnight  together,  and 
Bometimes  two  or  three  times  deep  in  one  night's 
engagements.  So  plenty  of  distraction,  and  no  Men  and 
Women." 

In  March,  1859,  the  Prince  of  Wales  visited  Rome,  and 
Mr,  Browning  was  invited  to  meet  him.  Col.  Bruce,  who  con- 
veyed the  invitation,  saying  that  "  he  knew  it  would  gratify 
the  Queen  that  the  Prince  should  make  the  acquaintance  of 
Mr.  Browning."  Mr.  Browning,  of  course,  attended  in 
obedience  to  this  command,  and  took  part  in  a  discussion, 
to  which  the  Prince  listened,  on  Italian  politics, — then,  on 
the  eve  of  the  outbreak  of  the  war  of  liberation,  a  subject 
of  burning  interest.  In  May,  just  before  the  opening  of 
hostilities,  they  returned  to  Florence ;  and  in  July,  when 
the  thrilling  excitement  of  Magenta,  Solferino,  and  Yilla- 
franca  was  over,  they  fled  from  the  heat  to  Siena,  where 
Mrs.  Browning  made  some  sort  of  recovery  from  the  severe 
illness  which  heat  and  excitement  together  had  brought  on 
her. 

A  letter  from  W.  Story  to  0.  E.  Norton,  dated  August 
6,  1859,  describes  their  manner  of  life  there  : 

"  Browning  too  is  at  a  stone's-throw  from  us,  and  every 
evening  we  sit  on  our  lawn  under  the  ilexes  and  cypresses 
and  take  our  tea  and  talk  until  the  moon  has  made  the 
circuit  of  the  quarter  of  the  sky.  He  is  well  and  full  of  life 
as  ever,  but  poor  Mrs.  Browning  is  sadly  weak  and  ill.  .  .  . 


T 


1859]  ROBERT  BROWNING  219 

We  think  she  has  passed  the  dangerous  crisis,  and  ia 
slowly  moving  on  towards  health  ;  but  still  she  is  terribly 
weak,  so  that  she  cannot  walk  across  the  room,  and  is 
afflicted  by  a  racking  cough  which  often  robs  her  of  sleep 
by  night." 

We  hear  of  them  also  in  September  from  Mr.  Yal  Prinsep, 
with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Story  in  an  adjacent  villa,  and  Walter 
Savage  Landor  in  a  "  cottage  "  close  by.  How  Mr.  Landor 
found  himself  of  the  party  belongs  to  a  little  chapter  in 
Mr.  Browning's  history  for  which  I  quote  Mr.  Colvin's 
words.^  He  was  then  living  at  Fiesole  with  his  family, 
very  unhappily,  as  we  all  know  ;  and  i\Ir.  Colvin  relates  how 
he  had  thrice  left  his  villa  there,  determined  to  live  in 
Florence  alone ;  and  each  time  been  brought  back  to  the 
nominal  home  where  so  little  kindness  awaited  him. 

"...  The  fourth  time  he  presented  himself  in  the 
house  of  Mr.  Browning  with  only  a  few  pauls  in  his  pocket, 
declaring  that  nothing  should  ever  induce  him  to  return. 

"  Mr.  Browning,  an  interview  with  the  family  at  the 
villa  having  satisfied  him  that  reconciliation  or  return  was 
indeed  past  question,  put  himself  at  once  in  communication 
with  Mr.  Forster  and  with  Landor 's  brothers  in  England. 
The  latter  instantly  undertook  to  supply  the  needs  of  their 
eldest  brother  during  the  remainder  of  his  life.  Thenceforth 
an  income  sufficient  for  his  frugal  wants  was  forwardtd 
regularly  for  his  use  through  the  friend  who  had  thus  come 
forward  at  his  need.  To  Mr.  Browning's  respectful  and 
judicious  guidance  Landor  showed  himself  docile  from  the 

•  Life  of  Landor,  p.  209.  [For  ]\Irs.  Browning's  account,  see  hei 
Letters,  vol.  ii.  pp.  323,  324;  and  for  Story's,  his  Life  by  Mr.  Henry 
James,  vol.  ii.  p.  14.] 


ZIZO  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF  [1859 

first.  Removed  from  the  inflictions,  real  and  imaginary,  of 
his  life  at  Fiesole,  he  became  another  man,  and  at  times  still 
seemed  to  those  about  him  like  the  old  Landor  at  his  best. 
It  was  in  July,  1859,  that  the  new  arrangements  for  his 
life  were  made.  The  remainder  of  that  summer  he  spent 
at  Siena,  first  as  the  guest  of  Mr.  Story,  the  American 
sculptor  and  poet,  next  in  a  cottage  rented  for  him  by 
Mr.  Browning  near  his  own.  In  the  autumn  of  the  same 
year  Landor  removed  to  a  set  of  apartments  in  the  Via 
V  Nunziatina  in  Florence,  close  to  the  Casa  Guidi,  in  a  house 
kept  by  a  former  servant  of  Mrs.  Browning's,  an  English- 
woman married  to  an  Italian.^  Here  he  continued  to  live 
during  the  five  years  that  yet  remained  to  him." 

Mr.  Landor's  presence  is  also  referred  to,  with  the  more 
^  important  circumstance  of  Mrs.  Browning's  recent  illness, 
in  two  characteristic  and  interesting  letters  of  this  period, 
one  written  by  Mr.  Browning  to  Frederic  Leighton, 
the  other  by  his  wife  to  her  sister-in-law.  Mr.  Leighton 
had  been  studying  art  during  the  previous  winter  in 
Italy. 

"  Kingdom  of  Piedmont,  Siena ;  Oct.  9,  '59. 
"  My  dear  Leighton — I  hope — and  think — you  know 
what  delight  it  gave  me  to  hear  from  you  two  months  ago. 
I  was  in  great  trouble  at  the  time  about  my  wife  who  was 
seriously  ill.  As  soon  as  she  could  bear  removal  we  brought 
her  to  a  villa  here.  She  slowly  recovered  and  is  at  last  well 
— I  believe — but  weak  still  and  requiring  more  attention 
than  usual.  "We  shall  be  obliged  to  return  to  Rome  for  the 
winter — not  choosing  to  risk  losing  what  we  have  regained 

>  Wilson,  Mrs.  Browning's  devoted  maid,  and  another  most  faith- 
hil  servant  of  hers  and  her  husband's,  Ferdinando  Bomagnoli. 


1859)  ROBERT   BROWNING  221 

with  some  difficulty.  Now  you  know  why  I  did  not  write 
Bt  once — and  may  imagine  why,  having  waited  so  long,  I 
put  off  telling  you  for  a  week  or  two  till  I  could  say  certainly 
what  we  do  with  ourselves.  If  any  amount  of  endeavour 
could  induce  you  to  join  us  there — Cartwright,  Eussell,  the 
Vatican  and  all — and'  if  such  a  step  were  not  inconsistent 
with  your  true  interests — you  should  have  it :  but  I  know 
very  well  that  you  love  Italy  too  much  not  to  have  had 
weighty  reasons  for  renouncing  her  at  present — and  I  want 
your  own  good  and  not  my  own  contentment  in  the  matter. 
Wherever  you  are,  be  sure  I  shall  follow  your  proceedings 
with  deep  and  true  interest.  I  heard  of  your  successes — 
and  am  now  anxious  to  know  how  you  get  on  with  the 
great  picture,  the  Ex  voto — if  it  does  not  prove  full  of 
beauty  and  power,  two  of  us  will  be  shamed,  that's  all ! 
But  /  don't  fear,  mind  I  Do  keep  me  informed  of  your 
progress,  from  time  to  time — a  few  lines  wiU  serve — and 
then  I  shall  slip  some  day  into  your  studio,  and  buffet  the 
piano,  without  having  grown  a  stranger.  Another  thing — 
do  take  proper  care  of  your  health,  and  exercise  yourself ; 
give  those  vile  indigestions  no  chance  against  you  ;  keep 
up  your  spirits,  and  be  as  distinguished  and  happy  as  God 
meant  you  should.  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  at  Rome — 
not  to  say,  Florence  I  TVe  go  thither  (i.e.  to  Florence) 
to-morrow,  stay  there  a  month,  probably,  and  then  take  the 
Siena  road  again." 

The  next  paragraph  refers  to  some  orders  for  photo- 
graphs, and  is  not  specially  interesting. 

"  Cartwright  arrived  here  a  fortnight  ago — very  pleasant 
it  was  to  see  him  :  he  left  for  Florence,  staid  a  day  or  two 
and  returned   to  Mrs.  Cartwright  (who  remained   at  the 


222  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [i859 

Inn),  and  they  all  departed  prosperously  yesterday  for 
Eome.  Odo  RusseU  spent  two  days  here  on  his  way  thither 
— we  liked  him  much.  Prinsep  and  Jones — do  you  know 
them  ? — are  in  the  town.  The  Storys  have  passed  the 
fiummer  in  the  villa  opposite, — and  no  less  a  lion  than  dear 
old  Landor  is  in  a  house  a  few  steps  off.  I  take  care  of 
him — his  amiable  family  having  clawed  him  a  little  too 
Bliarply  :  so  strangely  do  things  come  about !  I  mean 
his  Fiesole  '  family ' — a  trifle  of  wife,  sons  and  daughter 
— not  his  Enghsh  relatives,  who  are  generous  and  good  in 
every  way. 

"Take  any  opportunity  of  telling  dear  Mrs.  Sartoris 
(however  unnecessarily)  that  I  and  my  wife  remember  her 
with  the  old  feeling — I  trust  she  is  well  and  happy  to 
heart's  content.  Pen  is  quite  well  and  rejoicing  just  now 
in  a  Sardinian  pony  on  which  he  gallops  like  Puck  on  a 
dragon-fly's  back.  My  wife's  kind  regard  and  best  wishes 
go  with  those  of, 

*'  Dear  Leighton,  yours  affectionately  ever, 

"  E.  Browning. 

**Mrs.  to  Miss  Browning. 

"  October  1859. 

** .  .  .  After  all,  it  is  not  a  cruel  punishment  to  have 
to  go  to  Rome  again  this  winter,  though  it  will  be  an 
undesirable  expense,  and  we  did  wish  to  keep  quiet  this  winter, 
— the  taste  for  constant  wanderings  having  passed  away  as 
much  for  me  as  for  Robert.  We  begin  to  see  that  by  no 
possible  means  can  one  spend  as  much  money  to  so  small 
an  end — and  then  we  don't  work  so  well,  don't  live  to  as 
much  use  either  for  ourselves  or  others.  Isa  Blagden  bids 
as  observe  that  we  pretend  to  live  at  Florence,  and  are  not 


1859]  ROBERT  BROWNING  223 

there  much  above  two  months  in  the  year,  what  with  going 
away  for  the  summer  and  going  away  for  the  winter.  It's 
too  true.  It's  the  drawback  of  Italy.  To  lire  in  one  place 
here  is  impossible  for  us  almost,  just  as  to  live  out  of  Italy 
at  all  is  impossible  for  us.  It  isn't  caprice  on  our  part. 
Siena  pleases  us  very  much — the  silence  and  repose  have 
been  heavenly  things  to  me,  and  the  country  is  very  pretty 
— though  no  more  tLian  pretty — nothing  marked  or  romantic 
— no  mountains,  except  so  far  off  as  to  be  like  a  cloud  only 
on  clear  days — and  no  water.  Pretty  dimpled  ground, 
covered  with  low  vineyards,  purple  hills,  not  high,  with  the 
sunsets  clothing  them.  .  .  .  "We  shall  not  leave  Florence 
tiU  November — Robert  must  see  Mr.  Landor  (his  adopted 
son,  Sarianna)  settled  in  his  new  apartinent  with  "Wilson 
for  a  duenna.  It's  an  excellent  plan  for  him  and  not  a  bad 
one  for  Wilson.  .  .  .  Forgive  me  if  Robert  had  told  you 
this  already.  Dear  darling  Robert  amuses  me  by  talking  \^ 
of  his  '  gentleness  and  sweetness.'  A  most  courteous  and  ' 
refined  gentleman  he  is,  of  course,  and  very  affectionate  to 
Robert  (as  he  ought  to  bo),  but  of  self-restraint  he  has  not 
a  grain,  and  of  suspiciousness,  many  grains.  Wilson  will 
run  many  risks,  and  I,  for  one,  would  rather  not  meet  them. 
What  do  you  say  to  dashing  down  a  plate  on  the  floor  when 
you  don't  like  what's  on  it  ?  And  the  contadini  at  whose 
house  he  is  lodging  now  have  been  already  accused  of  open- 
ing desks.  Still  upon  that  occasion  (though  there  was  talk 
of  the  probability  of  Mr,  Lander's  'throat  being  cut  in 
his  sleep  ' — ) '  as  on  other  occasions^  Robert  succeeded  in 
soothing  him — and  the  poor  old  lion  is  very  quiet  on  the 
whole,  roaring  softly,  to  beguile  the  time,  in  Latin  alcaics 
against  his  wife  and  Louis  Napoleon.  He  laughs  carnivor- 
ously  when  1  tell  him  that  one  of  these  days  he  will  have 
to  write  an  ode  in  honour  of  the  Emperor,  to  pleasQ 
me." 


■^ 


224  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1859 

Mrs.  Browning  writes,  somewhat  later,  from  Rome  : 

"...  We  left  Mr.  Landor  in  great  comfort.  I  went 
to  see  bis  apartment  before  it  was  furnished.  Rooms 
small,  but  with  a  look-out  into  a  little  garden,  quiet  and 
cheerful,  and  he  doesn't  mind  a  situation  rather  out  of  the 
way.  He  pays  four  pounds  ten  (English)  the  month, 
"Wilson  has  thirty  pounds  a  year  for  taking  care  of  him— 
which  sounds  a  good  deal,  but  it  is  a  difficult  position.  He 
has  excellent,  generous,  affectionate  impulses — but  the  im- 
pulses of  the  tiger,  every  now  and  then.  Nothing  coheres 
in  him — either  in  his  opinions,  or,  I  fear,  his  affections.  It 
isn't  age — he  is  precisely  the  man  of  his  youth,  I  must 
believe.  Still,  his  genius  gives  him  the  right  of  gratitude 
on  all  artists  at  least,  and  I  must  say  that  my  Robert  has 
generously  paid  the  debt.  Robert  always  said  that  he  owed 
more  as  a  writer  to  Landor  than  to  any  contemporary.  At 
present  Landor  is  very  fond  of  him — but  I  am  quite  pre- 
pared for  his  turning  against  us  as  he  has  turned  against 
Forster,  who  has  been  so  devoted  for  years  and  years. 
Only  one  isn't  kind  for  what  one  gets  by  it,  or  there 
wouldn't  be  much  kindness  in  this  world.  ..." 

Mr.  Browning  always  declared  that  his  wife  could 
impute  evil  to  no  one,  that  she  was  a  living  denial  of  that 
doctrine  of  original  sin  to  which  her  Christianity  pledged 
her ;  and  the  great  breadth  and  perfect  charity  of  her 
views  habitually  justified  the  assertion ;  but  she  evidently 
possessed  a  keen  insight  into  character,  which  made  her 
complete  suspension  of  judgement  on  the  subject  of 
Spiritualism  very  difficult  to  understand. 

During  the  winter  of  1859-60,  Mr.  Val  Prinsep  was  in 
Rome.      He  had  gone  to  Siena  with  Mr.  Burne  Jones, 


I 


1859]  ROBERT   BROWNING  225 

bearing  an  introduction  from  Rossetti  to  Mr.  Browning 
and  his  wife  ;  and  the  acquaintance  with  them  was  renewed 
in  the  ensuing  months.  Mr.  Prinsep  had  acquired  much 
knowledge  of  the  popular,  hence  picturesque,  aspects  of 
Roman  life,  through  a  French  artist  long  resident  in  the 
city  ;  and  by  the  help  of  the  two  young  men  Mr.  Browning 
was  also  introduced  to  them.  The  assertion  that  during 
his  married  life  he  never  dined  away  from  home  must  be 
so  far  modified,  that  he  sometimes  joined  Mr.  Prinsep  and 
his  friend  in  a  Bohemian  meal,  at  an  inn  near  the  Porta 
Pinciana  which  they  much  frequented  ;  and  he  gained  in 
this  manner  some  distinctive  experiences  which  he  liked 
long  afterwards  to  recall.  I  am  again  indebted  to  Mr. 
Prinsep  for  a  description  of  some  of  these. 

"  The  first  time  he  honoured  us  was  on  an  evening  when 
the  poet  of  the  quarter  of  the  '  Monte '  had  announced  hia 
intention  of  coming  to  challenge  a  rival  poet  to  a  poetical 
contest.  Such  contests  are,  or  were,  common  in  Rome.  In 
old  times  the  Monte  and  the  Trastevere,  the  two  great 
quarters  of  the  eternal  city,  held  their  meetings  on  the 
Ponte  Rotto.  The  contests  were  not  confined  to  the 
effusions  of  the  poetical  muse.  Sometimes  it  was  a  strife 
between  two  lute-players,  sometimes  guitarists  would  engage, 
and  sometimes  mere  wrestlers.  The  rivalry  was  so  keen 
that  the  adverse  parties  finished  up  with  a  general  fight. 
So  the  Papal  Government  had  forbidden  the  meetings  on 
the  old  bridge.  But  still  each  quarter  had  its  pet  cham- 
pions, who  were  wont  to  meet  in  private  before  an  apprecia- 
tive, but  less  excitable  audience,  than  in  olden  times. 

*'  Gigi  (the  host)  had  furnished  a  first-rate  dinner,  and 
his  usual  tap  of  excellent  wine.     (^Vino  del  Popolo  he  called 

Q 


226  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1859 

it.)  The  Osteria  had  filled  ;  the  combatants  were  placed 
opposite  each  other  on  either  side  of  a  small  table  on  which 
Btood  two  mezzi — long  glass  bottles  holding  about  a  quart 
apiece.  For  a  moment  the  two  poets  eyed  each  other  like 
two  codes  seeking  an  opportunity  to  engage.  Then  through 
the  crowd  a  stalwart  carpenter,  a  constant  attendant  of 
Gigi's,  elbowed  his  way.  He  leaned  over  the  table  with  a 
hand  on  each  shoulder,  and  in  a  neatly  turned  couplet  he 
then  addressed  the  rival  bards. 

"  '  You  two,'  he  said,  '  for  the  honour  of  Rome,  must  do 
your  best,  for  there  is  now  listening  to  you  a  great  Poet 
from  England.' 

"  Having  said  this,  he  bowed  to  Browning,  and  swag- 
gered back  to  his  place  in  the  crowd,  amid  the  applause  of 
the  on-lookers. 

"It  is  not  necessary  to  recount  how  the  two  Impro- 
visatori  poetized,  even  if  I  remembered,  which  I  do  not. 

"  On  another  occasion,  when  Browning  and  Story  were 
dining  with  us,  we  had  a  little  orchestra  (mandolins,  two 
gaitars,  and  a  lute),  to  play  to  us.  The  music  consisted 
chiefly  of  well-known  popular  airs.  While  they  were  play- 
ing with  great  fervour  the  Hymn  to  Garibaldi — an  air 
strictly  forbidden  by  the  Papal  Government,  three  blows 
at  the  door  resounded  through  the  Osteria.  The  music 
stopped  in  a  moment.  I  saw  Gigi  was  very  pale  as  he 
walked  down  the  room.  There  was  a  short  parley  at  the 
door.  It  opened,  and  a  sergeant  and  two  Papal  gendarmes 
marched  solemnly  up  to  the  counter  from  which  drink  was 
supplied.  There  was  a  dead  silence  while  Gigi  supplied 
them  with  large  measures  of  wine,  which  the  gendarmes 
leisurely  imbibed.  Then  as  solemnly  they  marched  out 
again,  with  their  heads  well  in  the  air,  looking  neither  to 
the  right  nor  the  left.  Most  discreet  if  not  incorruptible 
guardians  of  the  peace  1    When  the  door  was  shut  the 


1859]  ROBERT  BROWNING  227 

music  began  again ;  but  Gigi  was  so  earnest  in  his  pro- 
testations, that  my  friend  Browning  suggested  we  should 
get  into  carriages  and  drive  to  see  the  Coliseum  by  moon- 
light. And  so  we  sallied  forth,  to  the  great  relief  of  poor 
Gigi,  to  whom  it  meant,  if  reported,  several  months  of 
imprisonment,  and  complete  ruin. 

"In  after  years  Browning  frequently  recounted  with 
delight  this  night  march. 

"  '  We  drove  down  the  Corso  in  two  carriages,'  he  would 
say.  'In  one  were  our  musicians,  in  the  other  we  sat. 
Yes !  and  the  people  all  asked,  "  who  are  these  who  make 
all  this  parade  ?  "  At  last  some  one  said,  "  Without  doubt 
these  are  the  fellows  who  won  the  lottery,"  and  everybody 
cried, "  Of  course  these  are  the  lucky  men  who  have  won."  ' " 

The  two  persons  whom  Mr.  Browning  saw  most,  and 
most  intimately,  during  this  and  the  ensuing  winter,  were 
probably  Mr.  and  Mrs.  _Story.  Allusion  has  already  been 
made  to  the  opening  of  the  acquaintance  in  1848,  to  its 
continuance  in  Rome  in  '53  and  '54,  and  to  the  artistic 
pursuits  which  then  brought  the  two  men  into  close  and 
frequent  contact  with  each  other.^    These  friendly  relations 

1  [When  Browning  left  Italy  after  his  wife's  death,  Story  wrote 
as  follows  (H.  James,  W.  W.  Story  and  his  Friends,  ii.  67,  68) : 

"  The  house  at  Florence  is  hroken  up,  and  I  have  lost  my  best 
friend  and  daily  companion  in  Italy.  You  cannot  imagine  how  I 
shall  miss  him.  For  three  years  now  we  have  been  always  together ; 
never  a  day  has  passed  (with  the  exception  of  two  months'  separation 
in  the  spring  and  autumn  when  he  went  to  Florence)  that  we  have 
not  met ;  all  the  long  summer  evenings  of  these  last  summers  at 
Siena  he  was  with  us,  and  we  sat  on  our  terrace  night  after  night 
till  midnight  talking  together,  or  we  played  and  sang  together  above 
stairs.  All  the  last  winters  he  worked  with  me  daily  for  three  hours 
in  my  studio,  and  we  met  either  at  my  house  or  at  his  or  at  that  of 
some  friend  nearly  every  evening.  There  is  no  one  to  supply  his 
place."] 


228  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1859- 

were  cemented  by  their  children,  who  were  of  about  the  same 
age  ;  and  after  Mrs.  Browning's  death,  Miss  Browning  took 
her  place  in  the  pleasant  intercourse  which  renewed  itself 
whenever  their  respective  visits  to  Italy  and  to  England 
again  brought  the  two  families  together.  A  no  less  lasting 
and  truly  affectionate  intimacy  was  now  also  growing  up 
with  Mr.  Cartwright  and  his  wife — the  Cartwrights  (of 
Aynhoe)  of  whom  mention  was  made  in  the  Siena  letter  to 
F.  Leighton  ;  and  this  too  was  subsequently  to  include 
their  daughter,  now  Mrs.  Guy  Le  Strange,  and  Mr. 
Browning's  sister.  During  the  winter  of  1858-9  they  also 
made  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Odo  Russell,  and  his  mother, 
Lady  "WiUiam  Russell,  who  was  also  during  this,  or  at  all 
events  the  following  winter,  in  Rome,  and  whom  after- 
wards in  London  Mr.  Browning  regularly  visited  until  her 
death  ;  but  the  acquaintance  was  already  entering  on  the 
stage  in  which  it  would  spread  as  a  matter  of  course  through 
every  branch  of  the  family.  His  first  country  visit,  when 
he  had  returned  to  England,  was  paid  with  his  son  to 
Woburn  Abbey. 

"We  are  now  indeed  fully  confronted  with  one  of  the 
great  difficulties  of  Mr.  Browning's  biography:  that  of 
giving  a  sufficient  idea  of  the  growing  extent  and  growing 
variety  of  his  social  relations.  It  is  evident  from  his  wife's 
correspondence  that  during,  as  well  as  after,  his  married 
hfe,  he  always  and  everywhere  knew  everyone  whom  it 
could  interest  him  to  know.  These  acquaintances  con- 
stantly ripened  into  friendliness,  friendliness  into  friendship. 
They  were  necessarily  often  marked  by  interesting  circum- 
stances or  distinctive  character.  To  follow  them  one  by  one, 
would  add  not  chapters,  but  volumes,  to  our  history.     The 


1860]  ROBERT  BROWNING  229 

time  has  not  yet  come  at  which  this  could  even  be  under- 
taken ;  and  any  attempt  at  systematic  selection  would  create 
a  false  impression  of  the  whole.  I  must  therefore  be  still 
content  to  touch  upon  such  passages  of  Mr.  Browning's 
Bocial  experience  as  lie  in  the  course  of  a  comparatively 
brief  record ;  leaving  all  such  as  are  not  directly  included 
in  it  to  speak  indirectly  for  themselves. 

Mrs.  Browning  writes  again,  in  1859: 

"  Massimo  d'  Azeglio  came  to  see  us,  and  talked  nobly, 
with  that  noble  head  of  his.  I  was  far  prouder  of  his 
coming  than  of  another  personal  distinction^  you  will 
guess  at,  though  I  don't  pretend  to  have  been  insensible  to 
that." 

Dr. — afterwards  Cardinal — Manning  was  also  among  the 
distinguished  or  interesting  persons  whom  they  knew  in 
Rome. 

The  family  returned  to  Siena  for  the  summer  of  18 GO,  and 
from  thence  Mrs.  Browning  writes  to  her  sister-in-law  of  her 
great  anxiety  concerning  her  sister  Henrietta,  Mrs.  Surtees 
Cook,2  then  attacked  by  a  fatal  disease. 

"  There  is  nothing  or  little  to  add  to  my  last  account  of 
my  precious  Henrietta.  But,  dear,  you  think  the  evil  less 
than  it  is — be  sure  that  the  fear  is  too  reasonable.  I  am  of 
a  very  hopeful  temperament,  and  I  never  could  go  on 
Bystematically  making  the  worst  of  any  case.  I  bear  up 
here  for  a  few  days,  and  then  comes  the  expectation  of  a 

1  The  invitation  to  Mr,  Browning  to  meet  the  young  Princ*  oi 
Wales. 

■  The  name  was  afterwards  changed  to  Altham. 


230  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [18GO 

letter,  which  is  hard.  I  fight  with  it  for  Eobert's  sake,  but 
all  the  work  I  put  myself  to  do  does  not  hinder  a  certain 
effect.  She  is  confined  to  her  bed  almost  wholly  and  suffers 
acutely.  ...  In  fact,  I  am  Uving  from  day  to  day,  on  the 
merest  crumbs  of  hope — on  the  daily  bread  which  is  very 
bitter.  Of  course  it  has  shaken  me  a  good  deal,  and 
interfered  with  the  advantages  of  the  summer,  but  that's 
the  least.  Poor  Robert's  scheme  for  me  of  perfect  repose 
has  scarcely  been  carried  out.  ..." 

The  winter  was  once  more  spent  in  Rome,  which  was 
believed  to  be  the  most  suitable  place  for  Mrs.  Browning  in 
her  very  precarious  state  of  health.  Since  the  publication 
of  3Ien  and  Women,  Mr.  Browning  had  written  little  poetry  ; 
and  now  the  desire  for  occupation,  which  we  have  seen 
previously  stayed  by  lessons  in  drawing,  found  vent  in  the 
study  of  sculpture,  under  the  guidance  of  his  friend  Mr. 
Story. 

**  Mrs.  Browning  to  Miss  Haworth. 

"...  Robert  has  taken  to  modelling  under  Mr.  Story 
(at  his  studio),  and  is  making  extraordinary  progress, 
turning  to  account  his  studies  on  anatomy.  He  has  copied 
already  two  busts,  the  young  Augustus  and  the  Psyche,  and 
is  engaged  on  another,  enchanted  with  his  new  trade,  work- 
ing six  hours  a  day.  In  the  evening  he  generally  goes  out 
as  a  bachelor — free  from  the  responsibility  of  crinoline — 
while  I  go  early  to  bed,  too  happy  to  have  him  a  little 
amused.  In  Florence  he  never  goes  anywhere,  you  know  ; 
even  here  this  winter  he  has  had  too  much  gloom  about  him 
by  far.     But  he  looks  entirely  well.  ..." 

The  anxiety  with  regard  to  Mrs.  Bro\vning's  sister  was 
neightened  during  the  autumn  months  in  Rome,  by  just  the 


1860]  ROBERT  BROWNING  231 

circumstance  from  which  some  comfort  had  been  expected 
—the  second  postal  delivery  which  took  place  every  day  ; 
for  the  hopes  and  fears  which  might  have  found  a  moment's 
forgetfulness  in  the  longer  absence  of  news,  were,  as  it 
proved,  kept  at  fever-heat.  On  one  critical  occasion  the 
suspense  became  unbearable,  because  Mr.  Browning,  by  his 
wife's  desire,  had  telegraphed  for  news,  begging  for  a  tele- 
graphic answer.  No  answer  had  come,  and  she  felt  con- 
vinced that  the  worst  had  happened,  and  that  the  brother 
to  whom  the  message  was  addressed  could  not  make  up  his 
mind  to  convey  the  fact  in  so  abrupt  a  form.  The  telegram 
had  been  stopped  by  the  authorities,  because  Mr.  Odo 
Russell  had  undertaken  to  forward  it,  and  his  position  in 
Rome,  besides  the  known  Liberal  sympathies  of  Mr,  and 
Mrs.  Browning  and  himself,  had  laid  it  open  to  political 
suspicion. 

Mrs.  Surtees  Cook  died  before  the  close  of  the  year. 
Mr.  Browning  always  believed  that  the  shock  and  sorrow  of 
this  event  had  shortened  his  wife's  life,  though  it  is  also 
possible  that  her  already  lowered  vitality  increased  the 
dejection  into  which  it  plunged  her.  Her  own  casual 
allusions  to  the  state  of  her  health  had  long  marked 
arrested  progress,  if  not  steady  decUne.  "We  are  told, 
though  this  may  have  been  a  mistake,  that  active  signs  of 
consumption  were  apparent  in  her  even  before  the  illness  of 
1859,  which  was  in  a  certain  sense  the  beginning  of  the 
end.  She  was  completely  an  invalid,  as  well  as  entirely  a 
recluse,  during  the  greater  part  if  not  the  whole  of  this  last 
Btay  in  Rome. 

She  rallied  nevertheless  sufficiently  to  write  to  Miss 
Browning  at  the  end  of  March,  in  a  tone  fully  suggestive 


232  LIFE  AND   LETTERS   OF  [I86I 

of  normal  health  and  energy  ;  and  her  letter  also  gives  some 
interesting  details  with  regard  to  her  husband's  occupations 
and  methods  of  work. 


"...  In  my  own  opinion  he  is  infinitely  handsomer 
and  more  attractive  than  when  I  saw  him  first,  sixteen 
years  ago.  ...  I  believe  people  in  general  would  think  the 
same  exactly.  As  to  the  modelling — well,  I  told  you  that 
I  grudged  a  little  the  time  from  his  own  particular  art. 
But  it  does  not  do  to  dishearten  him  about  his  modelling. 
He  has  given  a  great  deal  of  time  to  anatomy  with  reference 
to  the  expression  of  form,  and  the  clay  is  only  the  new 
medium  which  takes  the  place  of  drawing.  Also,  Eobert 
is  peculiar  in  his  ways  of  work  as  a  poet.  I  have  struggled 
a  Httle  with  him  on  this  point,  for  I  don't  think  him 
right ;  that  is  to  say,  it  would  not  be  right  for  me.  .  .  . 
But  Robert  waits  for  an  inclination,  works  by  fits  and 
starts  ;  he  can't  do  otherwise  he  says,  and  his  head  is  full 
of  ideas  which  are  to  come  out  in  clay  or  marble.  I  yearn 
for  the  poems,  but  he  leaves  that  to  me  for  the  present. 
Then  reading  hurts  him  ;  as  long  as  I  have  known  him  he 
has  not  been  able  to  read  long  at  a  time — he  can  do  it  now 
better  than  at  the  beginning.  The  consequence  of  which 
is  that  he  wants  occupation,  and  that  an  active  occupation 
is  salvation  to  him  with  his  irritable  nerves.  .  .  .  Nobody 
exactly  understands  him  except  me,  who  am  in  the  inside 
of  him  and  hear  him  breathe.  For  the  peculiarity  of  our 
relation  is,  that  even  when  he's  displeased  with  me  he 
thinks  aloud  with  me  and  can't  stop  himself.  ...  I  wanted 
his  poems  done  this  winter  very  much,  and  here  was  a 
bright  room  with  three  windows  consecrated  to  his  use. 
But  he  had  a  room  all  last  summer,  and  did  nothing. 
Then,  he  worked  himself  out  by  riding  for  three  or  four 


1861]  ROBERT  BROWxNING  233 

hours  together — there  has  been  little  poetry  done  since  last 
winter,  when  he  did  much.  He  was  not  inclined  to  write 
this  winter.  The  modelling  combines  body-work  and  soul- 
work,  and  the  more  tired  he  has  been,  and  the  more  his  back 
ached,  poor  fellow,  the  more  he  has  exulted  and  been  happy 
— ^no,  nothing  ever  made  him  so  happy  before'' — also  the 
better  he  has  looked  and  the  stouter  grown.  So  I  couldn't 
be  much  in  opposition  against  the  sculpture — I  couldn't  in 
fact  at  all.  He  has  material  for  a  volume,^  and  will  work 
at  it  this  summer,  he  says. 

"  His  power  is  much  in  advance  of  '  Strafford,'  which  is 
his  poorest  work  of  all.  Oh,  the  brain  stratifies  and  matures 
creatively,  even  in  the  pauses  of  the  pen. 

"  At  the  same  time,  his  treatment  in  England  affects 
him,  naturally, — and  for  my  part  I  set  it  down  as  an  infamy 
of  that  public — no  other  word.  He  says  he  has  told  you 
some  things  you  had  not  heard,  and  which  I  acknowledge 
I  always  try  to  prevent  him  from  repeating  to  anyone. 
I  wonder  if  he  has  told  you  besides  (no,  I  fancy  not)  that 
an  Eoglish  lady  of  rank,  an  acquaintance  of  ours  (observe 
that !),  asked,  the  other  day,  the  American  minister,  whether 
'  Eobert  was  not  an  American.'  The  minister  answered — 
'  Is  it  possible  that  you  ask  me  this  ?  Why,  there  is  not  so 
poor  a  village  in  the  United  States,  where  they  would  not 
tell  you  that  Robert  Browning  was  an  EngHshman,  and 
that  they  were  sorry  he  was  not  an  American.'  Very  pretty 
of  the  American  minister,  was  it  not  ? — and  literally  true, 
besides.  .  .  .  Ah,  dear  Sarianna — I  don't  complain  for 
myself  of  an  unappreciating  public.  /  have  no  reason. 
But,  just  for  that  reason,  I  complain  more  about  Robert — 
only  he  does  not  hear  me  complain — to  you  I  may  say,  that 

'  [Presumably  the  poems  eventually  published  as  "  Dramatia 
Personse " ;  but  their  publication  was  delayed  until  1861  by  Mrsi 
Browning's  death  and  the  consequent  break-up  of  his  life.] 


^34  LlJb'E  AND   LETTERS   OF  [i86l 

the  blindness,  deafness  and  stupidity  of  the  English  public 
to  Robert  are  amazing.  Of  course  Milsand  had  heard  hia 
name — well,  the  contrary  would  have  been  strange.  Robert 
IS.  All  England  can't  prevent  his  existence,  I  suppose. 
But  nobody  there,  except  a  small  knot  of  pre-Raffaellite 
men,  pretend  to  do  him  justice,  Mr.  Forster  has  done 
the  best, — in  the  press.  As  a  sort  of  lion,  Robert  has 
his  range  in  society — and — for  the  rest,  you  should  see 
Chapman's  returns  I — AYhile,  in  America  he  is  a  power,  a 
writer,  a  poet — he  is  read — he  lives  in  the  hearts  of  the 
people.  '  Browning  readings  '  here  in  Boston — '  Browning 
evenings '  there.  For  the  rest,  the  English  hunt  lions, 
too,  Sarianna,  but  their  lions  are  chiefly  chosen  among  lords 
and  railway  kings.  ..." 

We  cannot  be  surprised  at  Mrs.  Browning's  desire  for 
a  more  sustained  literary  activity  on  her  husband's  part. 
We  learn  from  his  own  subsequent  correspondence  that  he 
too  regarded  the  persevering  exercise  of  his  poetic  faculty 
as  almost  a  religious  obligation.  But  it  becomes  the  more 
apparent  that  the  restlessness  under  which  he  was  now 
labouring  was  its  own  excuse  ;  and  that  its  causes  can  have 
been  no  mystery  even  to  those  "  outside  "  him.  The  life 
and  climate  of  Italy  were  beginning  to  undermine  his 
strength.  We  owe  it  perhaps  to  the  great  and  sorrowful 
change,  which  was  then  drawing  near,  that  the  full  power 
of  work  returned  to  him. 

Mr.  Browning's  old  friend,  Madame  du  Quaire,^  came 
to  Rome  in  December.  She  had  visited  Florence  three 
years  before,  and  I  am  indebted  to  her  for  some  details 

'  Formerly  Miss  Blackett,  and  sister  of  the  member  for  New- 
castlie. 


1861]  ROBERT  BROWNING  235 

of  the  spiritualist  controversy  by  which  its  English  colony 
was  at  that  time  divided.  She  was  now  a  widow,  travelling 
with  her  brother ;  and  Mr.  Browning  came  whenever  he 
could,  to  comfort  her  in  her  sorrow,  and,  as  she  says,  dis- 
course of  nature,  art,  the  beautiful,  and  all  that  "  conquers 
death."  He  httle  knew  how  soon  he  would  need  the  same 
comfort  for  himself.  He  would  also  declaim  passages  from 
his  wife's  poems ;  and  when,  on  one  of  these  occasions, 
Madame  du  Quaire  had  said,  as  so  many  persons  now  say, 
that  she  much  preferred  his  poetry  to  hers,  he  made  this 
characteristic  answer,  to  be  repeated  in  substance  some 
years  afterwards  to  another  friend  :  "You  are  wrong — 
quite  wrong — she  has  genius ;  I  am  only  a  painstaking 
fellow.  Can't  you  imagine  a  clever  sort  of  angel  who 
plots  and  plans,  and  tries  to  build  up  something — he  wants 
to  make  you  see  it  as  he  sees  it — shows  you  one  point  of 
view,  carries  you  off  to  another,  hammering  into  your  head 
the  thing  he  wants  you  to  understand ;  and  whilst  this 
bother  is  going  on  God  Almighty  turns  you  off  a  little 
star — that's  the  difference  between  us.  The  true  creative 
power  is  hers,  not  mine." 

Mrs.  Browning  died  at  Casa  Guidi  on  June  29,  1861, 
soon  after  their  return  to  Florence.  She  had  had  a  return 
of  the  bronchial  affection  to  which  she  was  subject ;  and 
a  new  doctor  who  was  called  in  discovered  grave  mischief 
at  the  lungs,  which  she  herself  had  long  believed  to  be 
existent  or  impending.  But  the  attack  was  comparatively, 
indeed  actually,  slight ;  and  an  extract  from  her  last  letter 
to  Miss  Browning,  dated  June  7,  confirms  what  her  family 
and  friends  have  since  asserted,  that  it  was  the  death  of 
Cavour  which  gave  her  the  final  blow. 


236  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1861 

"...  .  TTe  come  home  into  a  cloud  here.  I  can 
scarcely  command  voice  or  hand  to  name  Cavour.  That 
great  soul  which  meditated  and  made  Italy  has  gone  to 
the  diviner  Country.  If  tears  or  blood  could  have  saved 
him  to  us,  he  should  have  had  mine.  I  feel  yet  as  if  I 
could  scarcely  comprehend  the  greatness  of  the  vacancy. 
A  hundred  Garibaldis  for  such  a  man  1 " 

Her  death  was  signahzed  by  the  appearance — this  time, 
I  am  told,  unexpected — of  another  brilliant  comet,  which 
passed  so  near  the  earth  as  to  come  into  contact  with  it. 


ROBERT  BROWNING  237 


CHAPTER  XV 
1861-1863 

Miss  Blagden — Letters  from  Mr.  Browning  to  Miss  Haworth  and 
Mr.  Leighton — His  Feeling  in  regard  to  Funeral  Ceremonies — 
Establishment  in  London — Plan  of  Life — Letter  to  Madame 
du  Quaire — Miss  Arabel  Barrett — Editorship  of  Cornhill  Maga- 
zine oflFered — Biarritz — Letters  to  Miss  Blagden — Conception 
of  The  Sing  and  the  Book — Biographical  Indiscretion — New 
Edition  of  his  Works — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Procter. 

The  friend  who  was  nearest,  at  all  events  most  helpful,  to 
Mr.  Browning  in  this  great  and  sudden  sorrow  was  Miss 
Blagden — Isa  Blagden,  as  she  was  called  by  all  her  inti- 
mates. Only  a  passing  allusion  to  her  could  hitherto  find 
place  in  this  fragmentary  record  of  the  Poet's  life  ;  but  the 
friendship  which  had  long  subsisted  between  her  and  Mrs. 
Browning  brings  her  now  into  closer  and  more  frequent 
relation  to  it.  She  was  for  many  years  a  centre  of  English 
society  in  Florence ;  for  her  genial,  hospitable  nature,  as 
well  as  literary  tastes  (she  wrote  one  or  two  novels,  I  believe 
not  without  merit),  secured  her  the  acquaintance  of  many 
interesting  persons,  some  of  whom  occasionally  made  her 
house  their  home  ;  and  the  evenings  spent  with  her  at  her 
villa  on  Bellosguardo  live  pleasantly  in  the  remembrance  of 
those  of  our  older  generation  who  were  permitted  to  share 
in  them. 


238  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [I86I 

She  carried  the  boy  away  from  the  house  of  mourning, 
and  induced  his  father  to  spend  his  nights  under  her  roof, 
while  the  last  painful  duties  detained  him  in  Florence.  He 
at  least  gave  her  cause  to  deny,  what  has  been  so  often 
affirmed,  that  great  griefs  are  necessarily  silent.  She  always 
spoke  of  this  period  as  her  "  apocalyptic  month,"  so  deeply 
poetic  were  the  ravings  which  alternated  with  the  simple 
human  cry  of  the  desolate  heart  :  "  I  want  her,  I  want 
her ! "  But  the  ear  which  received  these  utterances  has 
long  been  closed  in  death.  The  only  written  outbursts  of 
Mr.  Browning's  frantic  sorrow  were  addressed,  I  believe,  to 
his  sister,  and  to  the  friend,  Madame  du  Quaire,  whose  own 
recent  loss  most  naturally  invoked  them,  and  who  has 
since  thought  best,  so  far  as  she  was  concerned,  to  destroy 
the  letters  in  which  they  were  contained.  It  is  enough  to 
know  by  simple  statement  that  he  then  suffered  as  he  did. 
Life  conquers  Death  for  most  of  us ;  whether  or  not 
"  nature,  art,  and  beauty  "  assist  Ln  the  conquest.  It  was 
bound  to  conquer  in  Mr.  Browning's  case  :  first  through  his 
many-sided  vitality  ;  and  secondly,  through  the  special 
motive  for  living  and  striving  which  remained  to  him  in 
his  son.  This  note  is  struck  in  two  letters  which  are  given 
me  to  publish,  written  about  three  weeks  after  Mrs. 
Browning's  death  ;  and  we  see  also  that  by  this  time  his 
manhood  was  reacting  against  the  blow,  and  bracing  itself 
with  such  consoling  remembrance  as  the  peace  and  painless- 
ness of  his  wife's  last  moments  could  afford  to  him. 

Florence :  July  19,  '61. 
Dear  Leighton, — It  is  like  your  old  kindness  to  write  to 
me  and  to  say  what  you  do — I  know  you  feel  for  me.    I 


1861]  ROBERT  BROWNING  239 

can't  write  about  it — but  there  were  many  alleviating  cir- 
cumstances that  you  shall  know  one  day — there  seemed  no 
pain,  and  (what  she  would  have  felt  most)  the  knowledge 
of  separation  from  us  was  spared  her.  I  find  these  things 
a  comfort  indeed. 

I  shall  go  away  from  Italy  for  many  a  year — to  Paris, 
then  London  for  a  day  or  two  just  to  talk  with  her  sister — 
hut  if  I  can  see  you  it  will  be  a  great  satisfaction.  Don't 
fancy  I  am  "  prostrated,"  I  have  enough  to  do  for  the  boy 
and  myself  in  carrying  out  her  wishes.  He  is  better  than 
one  would  have  thought,  and  behaves  dearly  to  me.  Every- 
body has  been  very  kind. 

Tell  dear  Mrs.  Sartoris  that  I  know  her  heart  and  thank 
her  with  all  mine.  After  my  day  or  two  at  London  I  shall 
go  to  some  quiet  place  in  France  to  get  right  again  and 
then  stay  some  time  at  Paris  in  order  to  find  out  leisurely 
what  it  will  be  best  to  do  for  Peni — but  eventually  I  shall 
go  to  England,  I  suppose.  I  don't  mean  to  live  with  any- 
body, even  my  own  family,  but  to  occupy  myself  thoroughly, 
seeing  dear  friends,  however,  like  you.  God  bless  you. 
Yours  ever  affectionately, 

Robert  Browning. 

The  second  is  addressed  to  Miss  Ha  worth. 

Florence  :  July  20,  1861. 
My  dear  Friend, — I  well  know  you  feel  as  you  say,  for 
her  once  and  for  me  now.  Isa  Blagden,  perfect  in  all  kind- 
ness to  me,  will  have  told  you  something  perhaps — and  one 
day  I  shall  see  you  and  be  able  to  tell  you  myself  as  much 
as  I  can.  The  main  comfort  is  that  she  suffered  very  little 
pain,  none  beside  that  ordinarily  attending  the  simple  attacks 
of  cold  and  cough  she  was  subject  to — had  no  presentiment 
of  the  result  whatever,  and  was  consequently  spared  the 


240  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1861 

misery  of  knowing  she  was  about  to  leave  us ;  she  was 
smilingly  assuring  me  she  was  "  better,"  "  quite  comfortable 
— if  I  would  but  come  to  bed,"  to  within  a  few  minutes  of 
the  last.  I  think  I  foreboded  evil  at  Kome,  certainly  from 
the  beginning  of  the  week's  illness — but  when  I  reasoned 
about  it,  there  was  no  justifymg  fear — she  said  on  the  last 
evening  "  it  is  merely  the  old  attack,  not  so  severe  a  one 
as  that  of  two  years  ago — there  is  no  doubt  I  shall  soon 
recover,"  and  I  talked  over  plans  for  the  summer,  and 
next  year.  I  sent  the  servants  away  and  her  maid  to  bed — 
so  little  reason  for  disquietude  did  there  seem.  Through 
the  night  she  slept  heavily,  and  brokenly — that  was  the  bad 
sign — but  then  she  would  sit  up,  take  her  medicine,  say 
unrepeatable  things  to  me  and  sleep  again.  At  four  o'clock 
there  were  symptoms  that  alarmed  me,  I  called  the  maid 
and  sent  for  the  doctor.  She  smiled  as  I  proposed  to  bathe 
her  feet,  "  Well,  you  are  determined  to  make  an  exaggerated 
case  of  it !  "  Then  came  what  my  heart  will  keep  till  I  see 
her  again  and  longer— the  most  perfect  expression  of  her 
love  to  me  within  my  whole  knowledge  of  her.  Always 
smilingly,  happily,  and  with  a  face  Uke  a  girl's — and  in  a 
few  minutes  she  died  in  my  arms ;  her  head  on  my  cheek. 
These  incidents  so  sustain  me  that  I  tell  them  to  her  beloved 
ones  as  their  right  :  there  was  no  lingering,  nor  acute  pain, 
nor  consciousness  of  separation,  but  God  took  her  to  himself 
as  you  would  lift  a  sleeping  child  from  the  dark,  uneasy  bed 
into  your  arms  and  the  light.  Thank  God.  Annunziata 
thought  by  her  earnest  ways  with  me,  happy  and  smiling  as 
they  were,  that  she  must  have  been  aware  of  our  parting's 
approach — but  she  was  quite  conscious,  had  words  at  com- 
mand, and  yet  did  not  even  speak  of  Peni,  who  was  in  the 
next  room.  Her  last  word  was  when  I  asked  "  How  do 
you  feel  ? " — "  Beautiful."  You  know  I  have  her  dearest 
wishes  and  interests  to  attend  to  at  once — her  child  to  care 


1861]  ROBERT  BROWNING  241 

for,  educate,  establish  properly ;  and  my  own  life  to  fulfil 
as  properly, — all  just  as  she  would  require  were  she  here.  I 
shall  leave  Italy  altogether  for  years — go  to  London  for  a 
few  days'  talk  with  Arabel — then  go  to  my  father  and  begin 
to  try  leisurely  what  will  be  the  best  for  Peni — but  no  more 
"  housekeeping "  for  me,  even  with  my  family.  1  shall 
grow,  still,  I  hope — but  my  root  is  taken  and  remains. 

I  know  you  always  loved  her,  and  me  too  in  my  degree. 
I  shall  always  be  grateful  to  those  who  loved  her,  and  that, 
■J  repeat,  you  did. 

She  was,  and  is,  lamented  with  extraordinary  demonstra- 
tions, if  one  consider  it.  The  Italians  seem  to  have  under- 
Btood  her  by  an  instinct.  I  have  received  strange  kindness 
from  everybody.  Pen  is  very  well — very  dear  and  good, 
anxious  to  comfort  me  as  he  calls  it.  He  can't  know  his 
loss  yet.  After  years,  his  will  be  worse  than  mine — he  will 
want  what  he  never  had — that  is,  for  the  time  when  he 
could  be  helped  by  her  wisdom,  and  genius  and  piety — 
I  have  had  everything,  and  shall  not  forget. 

God  bless  you,  dear  friend.  I  believe  I  shall  set  out  in 
a  week.  Isa  goes  with  me — dear,  true  heart.  You,  too, 
would  do  what  you  could  for  us  were  you  here  and  your 
assistance  needful.  A  letter  from  you  came  a  day  or  two 
before  the  end — she  made  me  enquire  about  the  Frescobaldi 
Palace  for  you, — Isa  wrote  to  you  in  consequence.  I  shall 
be  heard  of  at  151,  rue  de  Grenelle,  St.  Germain. 
Faithfully  and  affectionately  yours, 

Robert  Browning. 

The  first  of  these  displays  even  more  self-control,  it 
might  be  thought  less  feeling,  than  the  second ;  but  it 
illustrates  the  reserve  which,  I  believe,  habitually  cha- 
racterized Mr.  Browning's  attitude  towards  men.  His 
natural,   and    certainly    most    complete,    confidants    were 

£ 


242  LIFE  AND   LETTERS   OF  [1861 

women.^  At  about  the  end  of  July  he  left  Florence  with 
his  son  ;  also  accompanied  by  Miss  Blagden,  who  travelled 
with  them  as  far  as  Paris.  She  herself  must  soon  have 
returned  to  Italy  ;  since  he  wrote  to  her  in  September  on 
the  subject  of  his  wife's  provisional  disinterment,*  in  a 
manner  which  shows  her  to  have  been  on  the  spot. 

•  [An  exception  must,  however,  be  made  in  the  case  of  W.  W. 
Story,  Browning's  most  intimate  friend  in  Italy,  who  wrote  the 
following  most  vivid  and  pathetic  narrative  to  Mr.  Charles  Eliot 
Norton  on  August  15,  1861  (printed  in  Henry  James'  Memoir, 
vol.  ii.  pp.  64-66).  The  whole  letter  deserves  reading,  for  its  fine 
characterization  of  Mrs.  Browning : 

"  After  death  she  looked,  as  Browning  told  me,  like  a  young  girl ; 
all  the  outlines  rounded  and  filled  up,  all  traces  of  disease  effaced, 
and  a  smile  on  her  face  so  living  that  they  could  not  for  hours 
persuade  themselves  she  was  really  dead.  We  went  immediately  to 
Florence,  and  it  was  a  sad  house  enough.  .  .  .  '  The  cycle  is  com- 
plete,' as  Browning  said,  looking  round  the  room ;  '  here  we  came 
fifteen  years  ago ;  here  Pen  was  born ;  here  Ba  wrote  her  poems  for 
Italy.  She  used  to  walk  up  and  down  this  verandah  in  the  summer 
evenings,  when,  revived  by  the  southern  air,  she  first  began  to  enjoy 
her  outdoors  life.  Every  day  she  used  to  walk  with  me  or  drive 
with  me,  and  once  even' walked  to  Bellosguardo  and  back;  that  was 
when  she  was  strongest.  Little  by  little,  as  I  now  see,  that  distance 
was  lessened,  the  active  outdoors  life  restricted,  until  walking  had 
finally  ceased.  We  saw  from  these  windows  the  return  of  the 
Austrians;  they  wheeled  round  this  corner  and  came  down  this 
street  with  all  their  cannon,  just  as  she  describes  it  in  "  Casa  Guidi." 
Last  week,  when  we  came  to  Florence,  I  said  :  "  We  used,  you  know, 
to  walk  on  this  verandah  so  often — come  and  walk  up  aiad  down 
once.  Just  once,"  I  urged,  and  she  came  to  the  window  and  took 
two  steps  on  it.  But  it  fatigued  her  too  much,  and  she  went  back 
and  lay  down  on  the  sofa — that  was  our  last  walk.  ...  So  the  cycle 
was  completed  for  us  here,  and  where  the  beginning  was  is  the  end. 
Looking  back  at  these  past  years  I  see  that  we  have  been  all  the  time 
walking  over  a  torrent  on  a  straw.  Life  must  now  be  begun  anew — 
all  the  old  cast  ofi  and  the  new  one  put  on.  I  shall  go  away,  break 
up  everything,  go  to  England,  and  live  and  work  and  write.'  "] 

*  Required  for  the  subsequent  placing  of  the  monument  designed 
by  F,  Leighton. 


1861]  ROBERT  BROWNING  243 

"  Sept.  '61. 
**....  Isa,  may  I  ask  you  one  favour  ?  Will  you, 
whenever  these  dreadful  preliminaries,  the  provisional  re- 
movement,  &c.,  when  they  are  proceeded  with, — will  you  do 
— all  you  can — suggest  every  regard  to  decency  and  proper 
feeling  to  the  persons  concerned  ?  I  have  a  horror  of  that 
man  of  the  grave-yard,  and  needless  publicity  and  exposure 
— I  rely  on  you,  dearest  friend  of  ours,  to  at  least  lend  us 
your  influence  when  the  time  shall  come — a  word  may  be 
invaluable.  If  there  is  any  show  made,  or  gratification  of 
strangers'  curiosity,  far  better  that  I  had  left  the  turf 
untouched.  These  things  occur  through  sheer  thought- 
lessness, carelessness,  not  anything  worse,  but  the  effect 
is  irreparable.  I  won't  think  any  more  of  it — now — at 
least.  ..." 

The  dread  expressed  in  this  letter  of  any  offence  to  the 
deHcacies  of  the  occasion  was  too  natural  to  be  remarked 
upon  here  ;  but  it  connects  itself  with  an  habitual  aversion 
for  the  paraphernalia  of  death,  which  was  a  marked  peculi- 
arity of  Mr.  Browning's  natm*e.  He  shrank,  as  his  wife 
had  done,  from  the  "  earth-side  "  of  the  portentous  change  ; 
but  truth  compels  me  to  own  that  her  infinite  pity  had 
little  or  no  part  in  his  attitude  towards  it.  For  him,  a  body 
from  which  the  soul  had  passed  held  nothing  of  the  person 
whose  earthly  vesture  it  had  been.  He  had  no  sympathy 
for  the  stUl  human  tenderness  with  which  so  many  of  us 
regard  the  mortal  remains  of  those  they  have  loved,  or  with 
the  solemn  or  friendly  interest  in  which  that  tenderness  so 
often  reflects  itself  in  more  neutral  minds.  He  would 
claim  all  respect  for  the  corpse,  but  he  would  turn  away 
Jrom  it.    Another  aspect  of  this  feeling  shows  itself  in  a 


244  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF  [mi 

letter  to  one  of  his  brothers-in-law,  Mr.  George  Moulton- 
Barrett,  in  reference  to  his  wife's  monument,  with  which 
Mr.  Barrett  had  professed  himself  pleased.  His  tone  is 
characterized  by  an  almost  religious  reverence  for  the 
memory  which  that  monument  enshrines.  He  nevertheless 
writes : 

"  I  hope  to  see  it  one  day — and,  although  I  have  no  kind  of 
concern  as  to  where  the  old  clothes  of  myself  shall  be 
thrown,  yet,  if  my  fortune  be  such,  and  my  survivors  be 
not  unduly  troubled,  I  should  like  them  to  lie  in  the  place 
I  have  retained  there.     It  is  no  matter,  however." 

The  letter  is  dated  October  19,  1866.  He  never  saw 
Florence  again. 

Mr.  Browning  spent  two  months  with  his  father  and 
sister  at  St.-Eaogat,  near  Dinard,  from  which  place  the 
letter  to  Miss  Blagden  was  written  ;  and  then  proceeded  to 
London,  where  his  wife's  sister.  Miss  Arabel  Barrett,  was 
living.  He  had  declared  in  his  grief  that  he  would  never 
keep  house  again,  and  he  began  his  solitary  life  in  lodgings 
which  at  his  request  she  had  engaged  for  him  ;  but  the  dis- 
comfort of  this  aiTangement  soon  wearied  him  of  it ;  and 
before  many  months  had  passed,  he  had  sent  to  Florence 
for  his  furniture,  and  settled  himself  in  the  house  in 
Warwick  Crescent,  which  possessed,  besides  other  advan- 
tages, that  of  being  close  to  Delamere  Terrace,  where  Miss 
BaiTett  had  taken  up  her  abode.^ 

•  [Some  words  written  to  Story  about  this  time  express  alike  the 
feeling  that  lay  at  the  bottom  of  his  move  to  London,  and  the  hope 
that  kept  him  alive  through  it :  "I  want  my  new  life  to  resemble 
the  last  fifteen  years  as  little  as  possible.  .  .  .  My  end  of  life,  and 
particular  reward  for  myself,  will  be,  one  day  years  hence,  to  just  go 
back  to  Italy,  to  Rome,  and  die  as  I  lived  when  I  used  really  to  live.  "J 


1861]  ROBERT  BROWNING  245 

This  first  period  of  Mr.  Browning's  widowed  life  was 
one  of  unutterable  dreariness,  in  which  the  smallest  and  yet 
most  unconquerable  element  was  the  prosaic  ugliness  of 
everything  which  surrounded  him.  It  was  fifteen  years 
Bince  he  had  spent  a  winter  in  England  ;  he  had  never 
spent  one  in  London.  There  had  been  nothing  to  break 
for  him  the  transition  from  the  stately  beauty  of  Florence 
to  the  impressions  and  associations  of  the  Harrow  and 
Edgware  Roads,  and  of  Paddington  Green.  He  might 
have  escaped  this  neighbourhood  by  way  of  "Westbourne 
Terrace  ;  but  his  walks  constantly  led  him  in  an  easterly 
direction  ;  and  whether  in  an  unconscious  hugging  of  his 
chains,  or,  as  was  more  probable,  from  the  desire  to  save 
time,  he  would  drag  his  aching  heart  and  reluctant  body 
through  the  sordidness  or  the  squalor  of  this  short  cut, 
rather  than  seek  the  pleasanter  thoroughfares  which  were 
open  to  him.  Even  the  prettiness  of  Warwick  Crescent  was 
neutralized  for  him  by  the  atmosphere  of  low  or  ugly  life 
which  encompassed  it  on  almost  every  side.  His  haunting 
dream  was  one  day  to  have  done  with  it  all ;  to  have 
fulfilled  his  mission  with  his  son,  educated  him,  launched 
him  in  a  suitable  career,  and  to  go  back  to  sunshine  and 
beauty  again.  He  learned  by  degrees  to  regard  London  as 
a  home  ;  as  the  only  fitting  centre  for  the  varied  energies 
which  were  reviving  in  him ;  to  feel  pride  and  pleasure  in 
its  increasing  picturesque  character.  He  even  learned  to 
appreciate  the  outlook  from  his  house — that  "  second 
from  the  bridge "  of  which  so  curious  a  present- 
ment had  entered  into  one  of  the  poems  of  Men  and 
Women  ^ — in  spite  of  the  refuse  of  humanity  which  would 
1  How  it  strikes  a  Contemporary. 


246  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1861 

sometimes  yell  at  the  street  corner,  or  fling  stones  at  his 
plate-glass.  But  all  this  had  to  come  ;  and  it  is  only 
fair  to  admit  that  in  1861  the  beauties  of  which  I  have 
spoken  were  in  great  measure  to  come  also.  He  could 
not  then  in  any  mood  have  exclaimed,  as  he  did  to  a 
friend  two  or  three  years  before  his  death :  "  Shall 
we  not  have  a  pretty  London  if  things  go  on  in  this 
way  ?  "  They  were  driving  on  the  Kensington  side  of 
Hyde  Park. 

The  paternal  duty,  which,  so  much  against  his  inclina- 
tion, had  established  Mr.  Browning  in  England,  would  in 
every  case  have  lain  very  near  to  his  conscience  and  to  his 
heart ;  but  it  especially  urged  itself  upon  them  through 
the  absence  of  any  injunction  concerning  it  on  his  wife's 
part.  No  farewell  words  of  hers  had  commended  their 
child  to  his  father's  love  and  care ;  and  though  he 
may,  for  the  moment,  have  imputed  this  fact  to  uncon- 
sciousness of  her  approaching  death,  his  deeper  insight 
soon  construed  the  silence  into  an  expression  of  trust, 
more  binding  upon  him  than  the  most  earnest  exacted 
promise  could  have  been.  The  growing  boy's  education 
occupied  a  considerable  part  of  his  time  and  thoughts, 
for  he  had  determined  not  to  send  him  to  school,  but, 
as  far  as  possible,  himself  prepare  him  for  the  University. 
He  must  also,  in  some  degree,  have  supervised  his  recrea- 
tions. He  had  therefore,  for  the  present,  little  leisure 
for  social  distractions,  and  probably  at  first  very  little 
inclination  for  them.  His  plan  of  life  and  duty,  and  the 
sense  of  responsibility  attendant  on  it,  had  been  com- 
municated to  Madame  du  Quaire  in  a  letter  written  also 
from  St.-Enogat. 


1861]  ROBERT  BROWNING  247 

M.  Chauvin,  St.-Enogat  pr^s  Dinard,  lie  et  Vilaine  ;  Aug.  17,  '61. 

Dear  Madame  du  Quaire, — I  got  your  note  on  Sunday 
afternoon,  but  found  myself  unable  to  call  on  you  as  I  had 
been  intending  to  do.  Next  morning  I  left  for  this  place 
(near  St.-Malo,  but  I  give  what  they  say  is  the  proper 
address).  I  want  first  to  beg  you  to  forgive  my  withholding 
so  long  your  little  oval  mirror — it  is  safe  in  Paris,  and  I  am 
vexed  at  having  stupidly  forgotten  to  bring  it  when  I  tried 
to  see  you.  I  shall  stay  here  till  the  autumn  sets  in,  then 
return  to  Paris  for  a  few  days — the  first  of  which  will  be 
the  best,  if  I  can  see  you  in  the  course  of  it — afterward,  I 
settle  in  London. 

When  I  meant  to  pass  the  winter  in  Paris,  I  hoped,  the 
first  thing  almost,  to  be  near  you — it  now  seems  to  me, 
however,  that  the  best  course  for  the  Boy  is  to  begin  a 
good  English  education  at  once.  I  shall  take  quiet  lodgings 
(somewhere  near  Kensington  Gardens,  I  rather  think)  and 
get  a  Tutor.  I  want,  if  I  can  (according  to  my  present 
very  imperfect  knowledge)  to  get  the  poor  little  fellow  fit 
for  the  University  without  passing  thro'  a  Public  School. 
I,  myself,  could  never  have  done  much  by  either  process, 
but  he  is  made  differently — imitates  and  emulates  and  all 
that.  How  I  should  be  grateful  if  you  would  help  me  by 
any  word  that  should  occur  to  you  1  I  may  easily  do  wi'ong, 
begin  ill,  thro'  too  much  anxiety — perhaps,  however,  all 
may  be  easier  than  seems  to  me  just  now. 

I  shall  have  a  great  comfort  in  talking  to  you — this  writing 
is  stiff,  ineffectual  work.  Pen  is  very  well,  cheerful  now, — 
has  his  little  horse  here.  The  place  is  singularly  unspoiled, 
fresh  and  picturesque,  and  lovely  to  heart's  content.  I  wish 
you  were  here  1 — and  if  you  knew  exactly  what  such  a  wish 
means,  you  would  need  no  assuring  in  addition  that  I  am 
Yours  affectionately  and  gratefully  ever 

KOBEBT   BEOWNDfQ. 


248  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [186I- 

The  person  of  whom  he  saw  most  was  his  sister-in-law, 
whom  he  visited,  I  believe,  every  evening.  Miss  Barrett 
had  been  a  favourite  sister  of  Mrs.  Browning's,  and  thia 
constituted  a  sufficient  title  to  her  husband's  affection. 
But  she  was  also  a  woman  to  be  loved  for  her  own  sake. 
Deeply  religious  and  very  charitable,  she  devoted  herself  to 
visiting  the  poor — a  form  of  philanthropy  which  was  then 
neither  so  widespread  nor  so  fashionable  as  it  has  since 
become ;  and  she  founded,  in  1850,  the  first  Training 
School  or  Eefuge  which  had  ever  existed  for  destitute  little 
girls.  It  need  hardly  be  added  that  Mr.  and  Miss  Brown- 
ing co-operated  in  the  work.  The  little  poem,  The  Twins, 
repubhshed  in  1855  in  Men  and  Women,  was  first  printed 
(with  Mrs.  Browning's  Plea  for  the  Ragged  Schools  of 
London)  for  the  benefit  of  this  Refuge.  It  was  in  Miss 
Barrett's  company  that  Mr.  Browning  used  to  attend  the 
ohurch  of  Mr.  Thomas  Jones,  to  a  volume  of  whose  Sermons 
and  Addresses  he  wrote  a  short  introduction  in  1884. 

On  February  15,  1862,  he  writes  again  to  Miss  Blagden. 

"  Feb.  15,  '62. 

"...  "While  I  write,  my  heart  is  sore  for  a  great 
calamity  just  befallen  poor  Bossetti,  which  I  only  heard  of 
last  night — his  wife,  who  had  been,  as  an  invalid,  in  the 
habit  of  taking  laudanum,  swallowed  an  overdose — was 
found  by  the  poor  fellow  on  his  retm-n  from  the  working- 
men's  class  in  the  evening,  under  the  effects  of  it — help  was 
called  in,  the  stomach-pump  used  ;  but  she  died  in  the 
night,  about  a  week  ago.  There  has  hardly  been  a  day 
when  I  have  not  thought,  '  if  I  can,  to-morrow,  I  will  go 
and  see  him,  and  thank  him  for  his  book,  and  return  his 
Bister's  poems.'    Poor,  dear  fellow  1  .  .  . 


1862]  ROBERT  BROWNING  249 

"...  Have  I  not  written  a  long  letter,  for  me  who 
hate  the  sight  of  a  pen  now,  and  see  a  pile  of  unanswered 
things  on  the  table  before  me  ? — on  this  very  table.  Do 
you  tell  me  in  turn  all  about  yourself.  I  shall  be  interested 
in  the  minutest  thing  you  put  down.  What  sort  of  weather 
is  it  ?  You  cannot  but  be  better  at  your  new  villa  than  in 
the  large  solitary  one.  There  I  am  again,  going  up  the 
winding  way  to  it,  and  seeing  the  herbs  in  red  flower,  and 
the  butterflies  on  the  top  of  the  wall  under  the  olive-trees  1 
Once  more,  good-bye.  ..." 

The  hatred  of  writing  of  which  he  here  speaks  refers 
probably  to  the  class  of  letters  which  he  had  lately  been 
called  upon  to  answer,  and  which  must  have  been  painful  in 
proportion  to  the  kindness  by  which  they  were  inspired. 
But  it  returned  to  him  many  years  later,  in  simple  weariness 
of  the  mental  and  mechanical  act,  and  with  such  force  that 
he  would  often  answer  an  unimportant  note  in  person, 
rather  than  make  the  seemingly  much  smaller  exertion  of 
doing  so  with  his  pen.  It  was  the  more  remarkable  that, 
with  the  rarest  exceptions,  he  replied  to  every  letter  which 
came  to  him.^ 

The  late  summer  of  the  former  year  had  been  entirely 
unrefreshing,  in  spite  of  his  acknowledgment  of  the  charms 
of    St.-Enogat.     There  was   more    distraction  and  more 

*  [In  March,  1862,  the  editorship  of  the  Cornhill  Magazine,  just 
resigned  by  Thackeray,  was  offered  to  Browning.  An  interesting 
letter  to  Story  (printed  in  Mr.  James'  Memoir,  vol.  ii.  p.  116)  shows 
that  the  ofier  was  seriously  considered  for  a  time,  but  ultimately  it 
was  declined.  It  was  probably  in  connection  with  this  incident 
that  Browning  was  first  brought  into  relations  with  Mr.  George 
Smith,  who  subsequently  became  not  only  his  publisher  but  his  firm 
and  valued  friend.] 


^y 


250  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1862 

soothing  in  the  stay  at  Cambo  and  Biarritz,  which  was 
chosen  for  the  hohday  of  1862.  Years  afterwards,  when 
the  thought  of  Italy  carried  with  it  less  longing  and  even 
more  pain,  Mr.  Browning  would  speak  of  a  visit  to  the 
Pyrenees,  if  not  a  residence  among  them,  as  one  of  the 
restful  possibilities  of  his  later  and  freer  life.  He  wrote  to 
Miss  Blagden : 

"  Biarritz,  Maison  Gastonbide  :  Sept.  19,  '62. 

"...  I  stayed  a  month  at  green  pleasant  little  Cambo, 
and  then  came  here  from  pure  inability  to  go  elsewhere — 
St.-Jean  de  Luz,  on  which  I  had  reckoned,  being  still  fuller 
of  Spaniards  who  profit  by  the  new  railway.  This  place  is 
crammed  with  gay  people  of  whom  I  see  nothing  but  their 
outsides.  The  sea,  sands,  and  view  of  the  Spanish  coast  and 
mountains  are  superb,  and  this  house  is  on  the  town's  out- 
skirts. I  stay  till  the  end  of  the  month,  then  go  to  Paris, 
and  then  get  my  neck  back  into  the  old  collar  again.  Pen 
has  managed  to  get  more  enjoyment  out  of  his  hohday  than 
seemed  at  first  likely — there  was  a  nice  French  family  at 
Cambo  with  whom  he  fraternised,  riding  with  the  son  and 
escorting  the  daughter  in  her  walks.  His  red  cheeks  look 
as  they  should.  For  me,  I  have  got  on  by  having  a  great 
read  at  Euripides — the  one  book  I  brought  with  me,  besides 
attending  to  my  own  matters,  my  new  poem  that  is  about  to 
be  ;  and  of  which  the  whole  is  pretty  well  in  my  head, — the 
Koman  murder  story  you  know. 

"...  How  I  yearn,  yearn  for  Italy  at  the  close  of  my 
life  I  .  .  .  " 

The  "  Eoman  murder  story  "  was,  I  need  hardly  say,  to 
become  The  Ring  and  the  Book. 

It  has  often  been  told,  though  with  curious  confusion  as 


1862]  ROBERT   BROWNING  251 

regards  the  date,^  how  Mr.  Browning  picked  up  the  original 
parchment-bound  record  of  the  Franceschini  case,  on  a  stall 
of  the  Piazza  San  Lorenzo.  We  read  in  the  first  section  of 
his  own  work  that  he  plunged  instantly  into  the  study  of 
this  record  ;  that  he  had  mastered  it  by  the  end  of  the  day  ; 
and  that  he  then  stepped  out  on  to  the  terrace  of  his  house 
amid  the  sultry  blackness  and  silent  lightnings  of  the  June 
night,  as  the  adjacent  church  of  San  Felice  sent  forth  its 
chants,  and  voices  buzzed  in  the  street  below, — and  saw  the 
tragedy  as  a  living  picture  unfold  itself  before  him.  These 
were  his  last  days  at  Casa  Guidi.  It  was  four  years  before 
he  definitely  began  the  work.  The  idea  of  converting  the 
story  into  a  poem  cannot  have  been  finally  adopted  by 
him  for  some  little  time,  since  he  offered  it  for  prose  treat- 
ment to  Miss  Ogle,  the  author  of  A  Lost  Love ;  and  for 
poetic  use,  I  am  almost  certain,  to  one  of  his  leading 
contemporaries.  It  was  this  slow  process  of  incubation 
which  gave  so  much  force  and  distinctness  to  his  ultimate 
presentment  of  the  characters  ;  though  it  infused  a  large 
measure  of  personal  imagination,  and,  as  we  shall  see,  of 
personal  reminiscence,  into  their  historical  truth. 

Before  The  Ring  and  the  Book  was  actually  begun. 
Dramatis  Fersonce  and  In  a  Balcony  were  to  be  completed. 
Their  production  had  been  delayed  during  Mrs.  Browning's 
lifetime,  and  necessarily  interrupted  by  her  death  ;  but  we 
hear  of  the  work  as  progressing  steadily  during  this  summer 
of  1862.2 

*  [The  date  was  June,  1860 — not  quite  his  last  days  at  Casa 
Guidi,  as  stated  below,  but  the  last  except  the  period  of  his  wife's 
final  Ulness  and  death.] 

"  [He  was  also  occupied,  in  a  way  which  would  have  taken  pre- 
cedence of  his  own  work,  by  editing  his  wife's  LastFoems  (published 
in  1862)  and  Greek  Christian  Poets  (1863).] 


252  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  11863 

A  painful  subject  of  correspondence  had  been  also  for 
some  time  engaging  Mr.  Browning's  thoughts  and  pen.  A 
letter  to  Miss  Blagden  written  January  19,  '63,  is  so 
expressive  of  his  continued  attitude  towards  the  questions 
involved  that,  in  spite  of  its  strong  language,  his  family 
advise  its  publication.  The  name  of  the  person  referred  to 
will  alone  be  omitted. 

"...  Ever  since  I  set  foot  in  England  I  have  been 
pestered  with  applications  for  leave  to  write  the  Life  of  my 
wife — I  have  refused — and  there  an  end.  I  have  last  week 
received  two  communications  from  friends,  enclosing  the 
letters  of  a  certain  .  .  .  of  .  .  .,  asking  them  for  details  of 
life  and  letters,  for  a  biography  he  is  engaged  in — adding, 
that  he  *  has  secured  the  correspondence  with  her  old 
friend  .  .  .'  Think  of  this  beast  working  away  at  this,  not 
deeming  my  feelings  or  those  of  her  family  worthy  of  notice 
— and  meaning  to  print  letters  written  years  and  years  ago, 
on  the  most  intimate  and  personal  subjects  to  an  '  old 
friend ' — which,  at  the  poor  .  .  .  [friend's]  death  fell  into 
the  hands  of  a  complete  stranger,  who  at  once  wanted  to 
print  them,  but  desisted  through  Ba's  earnest  expostulation 
enforced  by  my  own  threat  to  take  law  proceedings — as 
fortunately  letters  are  copyright.  I  find  this  woman  died 
last  year,  and  her  son  writes  to  me  this  morning  that 
.  .  .  got  them  from  him  as  autographs  merely — he  will  try 
and  get  them  back.  .  .  .,  evidently  a  blackguard,  got  my 
letter,  which  gave  him  his  deserts,  on  Saturday — no  answer 
yet, — if  none  comes,  I  shall  be  forced  to  advertise  in  the 
Times,  and  obtain  an  injunction.  But  what  I  suffer  in 
feeling  the  hands  of  these  blackguards  (for  I  forgot  to  say 
another  man  has  been  making  similar  applications  to 
friends),  what  I  undergo  with  their  paws  in  my  very  bowels, 


1863]  ROBERT  BROWNING  253 

you  can  guess,  and  God  knows !  No  friend,  of  course, 
would  ever  give  up  the  letters — if  anybody  ever  is  forced  to 
do  that  which  she  would  have  writhed  under — if  it  ever 
iv&re  necessary,  why  /  should  be  forced  to  do  it,  and,  with 
any  good  to  her  memory  and  fame,  my  own  p-iin  in  the 
attempt  would  be  turned  into  joy — I  should  do  it  at  what- 
ever cost :  but  it  is  not  only  unnecessary  but  absurdly 
useless — and,  indeed,  it  shall  not  be  done  if  I  can  stop  the 
scamp's  knavery  along  with  his  breath. 

"  I  am  going  to  reprint  the  Greek  Christian  Poets  and 
another  essay — nothing  that  ought  to  be  published  shall  be 
kept  back, — and  this  she  certainly  intended  to  coiTect, 
augment,  and  re-produce — but  /  open  the  doubled-up 
paper  !  "Warn  anyone  you  may  think  needs  the  warning  of 
the  utter  distress  in  which  I  should  be  placed  were  this 
scoundrel,  or  any  other  of  the  sort,  to  baffle  me  and  bring 
out  the  letters — I  can't  prevent  fools  from  uttering  their 
folly  upon  her  life,  as  they  do  on  every  other  subject,  but 
the  law  protects  property, — as  these  letters  are.  Only  last 
week,  or  so,  the  Bishop  of  Exeter  stopped  the  publication  of 
an  announced  '  Life ' — containing  extracts  from  his  cor- 
respondence— and  so  I  shall  do.  .  .  .  " 

Mr.  Browning  only  resented  the  exactions  of  modern 
biography  in  the  same  degree  as  most  other  right-minded 
persons  ;  but  there  was,  to  his  thinking,  something  specially 
ungenerous  in  dragging  to  light  any  immature  or  uncon- 
sidered utterance  which  the  writer's  later  judgement  would 
have  disclaimed.  Early  work  was  always  for  him  included 
in  this  category  ;  and  here  it  was  possible  to  disagree  with 
him  ;  since  the  promise  of  genius  has  a  legitimate  interest 
from  which  no  distance  from  its  subsequent  fulfilment  can 
detract.     But  there  could  be  no  disagreement  as  to  the 


254  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1863 

rights  and  decencies  involved  in  the  present  case ;  and,  as 
we  hear  no  more  of  the  letters  to  Mr.  .  .  .,  we  may  perhaps 
assume  that  their  intending  publisher  was  acting  in  ignor- 
ance, but  did  not  wish  to  act  in  defiance,  of  Mr.  Browning's 
feeling  in  the  matter. 

In  the  course  of  this  year,  1863,  Mr.  Browning  brought 
out,  through  Chapman  and  Hall,  the  still  well-known  and 
well-loved  three-volume  edition  of  his  works,  including 
Sordello,  but  again  excluding  Pauline.  A  selection  of  his 
poems  dated  in  the  same  year,  but  which  appeared  some- 
what earlier,  if  we  may  judge  by  the  preface,  dated 
November,  1862,  deserves  mention  as  a  tribute  to  friend- 
ship. The  volume  had  been  prepared  by  John  Forster 
and  Bryan  Waller  Procter  (Barry  Cornwall),  '-'two  friends," 
as  the  preface  states,  "who  from  the  first  appearance  of 
Paracelsus  have  regarded  its  writer  as  among  the  few  great 
poets  of  the  century."  Mr.  Browning  had  long  before 
signalized  his  feeling  for  Barry  Cornwall  by  the  dedication 
of  Golomle's  Birthday.  He  discharged  the  present  debt 
to  Mr.  Procter,  if  such  there  was,  by  the  attentions  which 
he  rendered  to  his  infirm  old  age.  For  many  years  he 
visited  bim  every  Sunday,  in  spite  of  a  deafness  ultimately 
80  complete  that  it  was  only  possible  to  converse  with  him 
in  writing.  These  visits  were  afterwards,  at  her  urgent 
request,  continued  to  Mr.  Procter's  widow. 


ROBERT  BROWNING  &65 


CHAPTER  XVI 

1863-1869 

Pomic — James  Lee's  Wife — Meeting  at  Mr.  F.  Palgrave's — Letters 
to  Miss  Blagden — His  own  Estimate  of  his  Work — His  Father's 
Illness  and  Death;  Miss  Browning — Le  Croisic — Academic 
Honours;  Letter  to  the  Master  of  Balliol — Death  of  Miss 
Barrett — Audierne — Uniform  Edition  of  his  Works — His  rising 
Fame — Dramatis  Personx — The  Bimj  and  the  Book ;  Character 
of  Pompilia. 

The  most  constant  contributions  to  Mr.  Browning's  history 
are  supplied  during  the  next  eight  or  nine  years  by  extracts 
from  his  letters  to  Miss  Blagden.  Our  next  will  be  dated 
from  Ste.-Marie,  near  Pornic,  where  he  and  his  family  again 
spent  their  holiday  in  1864  and  1865.  Some  idea  of  the 
life  he  led  there  is  given  at  the  close  of  a  letter  to  Frederic 
Leighton,  August  17,  1863,  in  which  he  says  : 

"  I  live  upon  milk  and  fruit,  bathe  daily,  do  a  good 
morning's  work,  read  a  little  with  Pen  and  somewhat  more 
by  myself,  go  to  bed  early,  and  get  up  earlyish — rather 
liking  it  all." 

This  mention  of  a  diet  of  milk  and  fruit  recalls  a 
favourite  habit  of  Mr.  Browning's  :  that  of  almost  renounc- 
ing animal  food  whenever  he  went  abroad.  It  was  partly 
promoted  by  the  inferior  quality  of  foreign  meat,  and 


256  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [18G3- 

Bhovred  no  sign  of  specially  agreeing  with  him,  at  a1J  events 
in  his  later  years,  "when  he  habitually  returned  to  England 
looking  thinner  and  more  haggard  than  before  he  left  it. 
But  the  change  was  always  congenial  to  his  taste. 

A  fuller  picture  of  these  simple,  peaceful,  and  poetic 
Pornic  days  comes  to  us  through  Miss  Blagden,  August  18  : 

"...  This  is  a  wild  little  place  in  Brittany,  something 
like  that  village  where  we  stayed  last  year.  Close  to  the 
sea — a  hamlet  of  a  dozen  houses,  perfectly  lonely — one  may 
walk  on  the  edge  of  the  low  rocks  by  the  sea  for  miles. 
Our  hoase  is  the  mayor's,  large  enough,  clean  and  bare.  If 
I  could,  I  would  stay  just  as  I  am  for  many  a  day.  I  feel 
out  of  the  very  earth  sometimes  as  I  sit  here  at  the  window  ; 
with  the  httle  church,  a  field,  a  few  houses,  and  the  sea. 
On  a  weekday  there  is  nobody  in  the  village,  plenty  of  hay- 
stacks, cows  and  fowls  ;  all  our  butter,  eggs,  milk,  are  pro- 
duced in  the  farm-house.  Such  a  soft  sea,  and  such  a 
mournful  wind  I 

"  I  wrote  a  poem  yesterday  of  120  lines,  and  mean  to 
keep  writing  whether  I  like  it  or  not.  .  .  . "  ^ 

That  "  window  "  was  the  Doorway  in  James  Lee's  Wife. 
The  sea,  the  field,  and  the  fig-tree  were  visible  from  it. 

A  long  interval  in  the  correspondence,  at  all  events  so 
far  as  we  are  concerned,  carries  us  to  the  December  of  1864, 
and  then  Mr.  Browning  wrote  : 

"...  on  the  other  hand,  I  feel  such  comfort  and 
delight  in  doing  the  best  I  can  with  my  own  object  of  life, 

['  This  determination  marks  a  change  of  method  from  that 
described  in  the  letter  of  Mrs.  Browning,  quoted  on  p.  232,  and 
accounts  for  the  regularity  of  production  which  marked  the  re- 
mainder of  his  life.] 


mh  ROBERT  BROWNING  257 

poetry — which,  I  think,  I  never  could  have  seen  the  good  of 
before,  that  it  shows  me  I  have  taken  the  root  I  did  take, 
well.  I  hope  to  do  much  more  yet — and  that  the  flower  of 
it  will  be  put  into  Her  hand  somehow.  I  really  have  great 
opportunities  and  advantages — on  the  whole,  almost  unpre- 
cedented ones — I  think,  no  other  disturbances  and  cares 
than  those  I  am  most  grateful  for  being  allowed  to 
have.  .  .  ." 

One  of  our  very  few  written  reminiscences  of  Mr. 
Browning's  social  life  ^  refers  to  this  year,  1864,  and  to  the 
evening,  February  12,  on  which  he  signed  his  will  in  the 
presence  of  Mr.  Francis  Palgrave  and  Alfred  Tennyson.  It 
is  inscribed  in  the  diary  of  Mr.  Thomas  Richmond,  then 
chaplain  to  St.  George's  Hospital ;  and  Mr.  Reginald  Palgrave 
has  kindly  procured  me  a  copy  of  it.  A  brilliant  party  had 
met  at  dinner  at  the  house  of  Mr.  F.  Palgrave,  York  Gate, 
Regent's  Park ;  Mr.  Richmond,  having  fulfilled  a  prior 
engagement,  had  joined  it  later.     "  There  were,  in  order," 

*  [It  was  in  the  spring  of  1863,  according  to  Mr.  Gosse,  that 
Browning  suddenly  resolved  to  throw  himself  into  social  life  in 
London,  in  which  he  thenceforward  played  an  increasingly  active 
part.  Mr.  Henry  James  (in  his  W.  W.  Story  and  his  Friends,  vol.  ii. 
p.  88)  has  some  interesting  and  suggestive  remarks  on  this  side  of 
Browning's  life,  and  its  relation  to  his  inner  self : 

"  It  was  not  easy  to  meet  him  and  know  him  without  soma 
resort  to  the  supposition  that  he  had  literally  mastered  the  secret  of 
dividing  the  personal  consciousness  into  a  pair  of  independent  com- 
partments. The  man  of  the  world — the  man  who  was  good  enough 
for  the  world,  such  as  it  was — walked  abroad,  showed  himself, 
talked,  right  resonantly,  abounded,  multiplied  his  contacts,  and  did 
his  duty ;  the  man  of  '  Dramatic  Lyrics,'  of  '  Men  and  Women,'  of 
•  the  Ring  and  the  Book,'  of  '  A  Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon,'  of  '  Pippa 
Passes,'  of  '  Colombe's  Birthday,'  of  everything,  more  or  less,  of  the 
order  of  these, — this  inscrutable  personage  sat  at  home  and  knew  as 
well  as  he  might  in  what  quarters  of  that  sphere  to  look  for  suitabla 
company."J 

S 


258  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1864- 

he  gays,  "round  the  dinner-tahle  (dinner  being  over), 
Gifford  Palgrave,  Tennyson,  Dr.  John  Ogle,  Sir  Francis  H. 
Doyle,  Frank  Palgrave,  W.  E.  Gladstone,  Browning,  Sir 
John  Simeon,  Monsignor  Patterson,  "Woolner,  and  Reginald 
Palgrave." 

Mr.  Richmond  closes  his  entry  by  saying  he  will  never 
forget  that  evening.  The  names  of  those  whom  it  had 
brought  together,  almost  all  to  be  sooner  or  later  numbered 
among  the  Poet's  friends,  were  indeed  enough  to  stamp  it 
as  worthy  of  recollection.  One  or  two  characteristic  utter- 
ances of  Mr,  Browning  are,  however,  the  only  ones  which  it 
seems  advisable  to  repeat  here.  The  conversation  having 
turned  on  the  celebration  of  the  Shakespeare  ter-centenary, 
he  said :  "  Here  we  are  called  upon  to  acknowledge 
Shakespeare,  we  who  have  him  in  our  very  bones  and  blood, 
our  very  selves.  The  very  recognition  of  Shakespeare's 
merits  by  the  Committee  reminds  me  of  nothing  so  apt  as 
an  illustration,  as  the  decree  of  the  Directoire  that  men 
might  acknowledge  God." 

Among  the  subjects  discussed  was  the  advisability  of 
making  schoolboys  write  English  verses  as  well  as  Latin 
and  Greek.  "Woolner  and  Sir  Francis  Doyle  were  for 
this  ;  Gladstone  and  Browning  against  it." 

"Work  had  now  found  its  fitting  place  in  the  Poet's  life. 
It  was  no  longer  the  overflow  of  an  irresistible  productive 
energy;  it  was  the  deliberate  direction  of  that  energy 
towards  an  appointed  end.  We  hear  something  of  his  own 
feeling  concerning  this  in  a  letter  of  August  '65,  again 
from  Ste.-Marie,  and  called  forth  by  some  gossip  concerning 
him  which  Miss  Blagden  had  connected  with  his  then 
growing  fame. 


1865]  ROBERT   BROWNING  259 

"...  I  suppose  that  what  you  call  *my  fame  within 
these  four  years '  comes  from  a  little  of  this  gossiping  and 
going  about,  and  showing  myself  to  be  alive  :  and  so  indeed 
some  folks  say — but  I  hardly  think  it :  for  remember  I  was 
uninterruptedly  (almost)  in  London  from  the  time  I  published 
Paracehus  till  I  ended  that  string  of  plays  with  Luria — and 
I  used  to  go  out  then,  and  see  far  more  of  merely  literary 
people,  critics  &c.  than  I  do  now, — but  what  came  of  it  ? 
There  were  always  a  few  people  who  had  a  certain  opinion 
of  my  poems,  but  nobody  cared  to  speak  what  he  thought, 
or  the  things  printed  twenty-five  years  ago  would  not  have 
waited  so  long  for  a  good  word  ;  but  at  last  a  new  set  of 
men  amve  who  don't  mind  the  conventionalities  of  ignoring 
one  and  seeing  everything  in  another — Chapman  says,  '  the 
new  orders  come  from  Oxford  and  Cambridge,'  and  all  my 
new  cultivators  are  young  men — more  than  that,  I  observe 
that  some  of  my  old  friends  don't  like  at  all  the  irruption 
of  outsiders  who  rescue  me  from  their  sober  and  private 
approval,  and  take  those  words  out  of  their  mouths  '  which 
they  always  meant  to  say  '  and  never  did.  When  there  gets 
to  be  a  general  feeling  of  this  kind,  that  there  must  be 
something  in  the  works  of  an  author,  the  reviews  are  obliged 
to  notice  him,  such  notice  as  it  is — but  what  poor  work, 
even  when  doing  its  best !  I  mean  poor  in  the  failure  to 
give  a  general  notion  of  the  whole  works  ;  not  a  particular 
one  of  such  and  such  points  therein.  As  I  began,  so  I  shall 
end, — taking  my  own  course,  pleasing  myself  or  aiming  at 
doing  so,  and  thereby,  I  hope,  pleasing  God. 

"As  I  never  did  otherwise,  I  never  had  any  fear  as 
to  what  I  did  going  ultimately  to  the  bad, — hence  in 
collected  editions  I  always  reprinted  everything,  smallest 
and  greatest.  Do  you  ever  see,  by  the  way,  the  numbers  of 
the  selection  which  Moxons  publish  ?  They  are  exclusively 
poems  omitted  in  that  other  selection  by  Forster  ;  it  seems 


260  LIFE    AND   LETTERS   OF  [18G5 

little  use  sending  them  to  you,  but  when  they  are  completec^ 
if  they  give  me  a  few  copies,  you  shall  have  one  if  you  like. 
Just  before  I  left  London,  Macmillan  was  anxious  to  print 
a  third  selection,  for  his  Golden  Treasury,  which  should  of 
course  be  different  from  either — but  three  seem  too  absurd. 
There — enough  of  me — 

"  I  certainly  will  do  my  utmost  to  make  the  most  of  my 
poor  self  before  I  die  ;  for  one  reason,  that  I  may  help  old 
Pen  the  better ;  I  was  much  struck  by  the  kind  ways,  and 
interest  shown  in  me  by  the  Oxford  undergraduates, — those 
introduced  to  me  by  Jowett. — I  am  sure  they  would  be  the 
more  helpful  to  my  son.  So,  good  luck  to  my  great  venture, 
the  murder-poem,  which  I  do  hope  will  strike  you  and  all 
good  lovers  of  mine.  ..." 

"We  cannot  wonder  at  the  touch  of  bitterness  with  which 
Mr.  Browning  dwells  on  the  long  neglect  which  he  had 
sustained  ;  but  it  is  at  first  sight  difficult  to  reconcile  this 
high  positive  estimate  of  the  value  of  his  poetry  with  the 
relative  depreciation  of  his  own  poetic  genius  which  con- 
stantly marks  his  attitude  towards  that  of  his  wife.  The 
facts  are,  however,  quite  compatible.  He  regarded  Mrs. 
Browning's  genius  as  greater,  because  more  spontaneous, 
than  his  own  :  owing  less  to  Hfe  and  its  opportunities  ;  but 
he  judged  his  own  work  as  the  more  important,  because  of 
the  larger  knowledge  of  life  which  had  entered  into  its  pro- 
duction. He  was  wrong  in  the  first  terms  of  his  comparison  : 
for  he  underrated  the  creative,  hence  spontaneous  element 
in  his  own  nature,  while  claiming  primarily  the  position  of 
an  observant  thinker  ;  and  he  overrated  the  amount  of 
creativeness  implied  by  the  poetry  of  his  wife.  He  failed 
to  see  that,  given  her  intellectual  endowments,  and  the  lyric 


1865]  ROBERT  BROWNING  261 

gift,  the  characteristics  of  her  genius  were  due  to  circum- 
stances as  much  as  those  of  his  own.  Actual  life  is  not  the 
only  source  of  poetic  inspiration,  though  it  may  perhaps  be 
the  best.  Mrs.  Browning  as  a  poet  became  what  she  was, 
not  in  spite  of  her  long  seclusion,  but  by  help  of  it.  A 
touching  paragraph,  bearing  upon  this  subject,  is  dated 
October  '65. 

"...  Another  thing.  I  have  just  been  making  a 
selection  of  Ba's  poems  which  is  wanted — how  I  have  done 
it,  I  can  hardly  say — it  is  one  dear  delight  to  know  that 
the  work  of  her  goes  on  more  effectually  than  ever — her 
books  are  more  and  more  read — certainly,  sold.  A  new 
edition  of  Aurora  Leigh  is  completely  exhausted  within 
this  year.  ..." 

Of  the  thing  next  dearest  to  his  memory,  his  Florentine 
home,  he  had  written  in  the  January  of  this  year  : 

"...  Yes,  Florence  will  never  be  my  Florence  again. 
To  build  over  or  beside  Poggio  seems  barbarous  and  in- 
excusable. The  Fiesole  side  don't  matter.  Are  they  going 
to  pull  the  old  walls  down,  or  any  part  of  them,  I  want  to 
know  ?  Why  can't  they  keep  the  old  city  as  a  nucleus  and 
build  round  and  round  it,  as  many  rings  of  houses  as  they 
please, — framing  the  picture  as  deeply  as  they  please  ?  Is 
Casa  Gruidi  to  be  turned  into  any  Public  Office  ?  I  should 
think  that  its  natural  destination.  If  I  am  at  liberty  to 
flee  away  one  day,  it  will  not  be  to  Florence,  I  dare  say. 
As  old  Philipson  said  to  me  once  of  Jerusalem — '  No,  I 
don't  want  to  go  there, — I  can  see  it  in  my  head.'  .  .  . 
Well,  goodbye,  dearest  Isa.  I  have  been  for  a  few  minutes 
—nay,  a  good  many, — so  really  with  you  in  Florence  that 


262  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1865- 

it  would  be  no  wonder  if  you  heard  my  steps  up  the  lane 
to  your  house.  ..." 

Part  of  a  letter  written  in  September  of  '65  from 
Ste.-Marie  may  be  interesting  as  referring  to  the  legend  of 
Pornic  included  in  Dramatis  Fersonce. 

"...  I  suppose  my  '  poem '  which  you  say  brings  me 
and  Pornic  together  in  your  mind,  is  the  one  about  the 
poor  girl — if  so,  '  fancy '  (as  I  hear  you  say)  they  have 
pulled  down  the  church  since  I  arrived  last  month — there 
are  only  the  shell-like,  roofless  walls  left,  for  a  few  weeks 
more ;  it  was  very  old — built  on  a  natural  base  of  rock — 
small  enough,  to  be  sure — so  they  build  a  smart  new  one 
behind  it,  and  down  goes  this ;  just  as  if  they  could  not 
have  pitched  down  their  brick  and  stucco  farther  away, 
and  left  the  old  place  for  the  fishermen ; — so  here — the 
church  is  even  more  picturesque — and  certain  old  Norman 
ornaments,  capitals  of  pillars  and  the  like,  which  we  left 
erect  in  the  doorway,  are  at  this  moment  in  a  heap  of 
rubbish  by  the  road-side.  The  people  here  are  good,  stupid 
and  dirty,  without  a  touch  of  the  sense  of  picturesqueness 
in  their  clodpolls.  ..." 

The  Httle  record  continues  through  1866. 

"  Feb.  19,  '66. 
"...  I  go  out  a  great  deal ;  but  have  enjoyed  nothing 
BO  much  as  a  dinner  last  week  with  Tennyson,  who,  with  his 
wife  and  one  son,  is  staying  in  town  for  a  few  weeks, — and 
she  is  just  what  she  was  and  always  will  be — very  sweet  and 
dear  :  he  seems  to  me  better  than  ever.  I  met  him  at  a 
large  party  on  Saturday — also  Oarlyle,  whom  I  never  met 
at  a  'drum'    before.  .  ,  .  Pen  is  drawing   our  owl — a 


1866]  ROBERT  BROWNING  263 

bird  that  is  the  light  of  our  house,  for  his  tameness  and 
engaging  ways.  ..." 

"  May  19,  '66. 

"...  My  father  has  been  unwell, — he  is  better,  and 
will  go  out  into  the  country  the  moment  the  east  winds 
allow ;  for  in  Paris, — as  here, — there  is  a  razor  wrapped 
up  in  the  flannel  of  sunshine.  I  hope  to  hear  presently 
from  my  sister,  and  will  tell  you  if  a  letter  comes :  he  is 
eighty-five,  almost, — you  see  !  otherwise  his  wonderful  con- 
stitution would  keep  me  from  inordinate  apprehension.  His 
mind  is  absolutely  as  I  always  remember  it, — and  the  other 
day  when  I  wanted  some  information  about  a  point  of 
medifeval  history,  he  wrote  a  regular  bookful  of  notes  and 
extracts  thereabout.  ..." 

"June  20, '66. 

"My  dearest  Isa,  I  was  telegraphed  for  to  Paris  last 
week,  and  arrived  time  enough  to  pass  twenty-four  hours 
more  with  my  father  :  he  died  on  the  14th — quite  exhausted 
by  internal  haemorrhage,  which  would  have  overcome  a 
man  of  thirty.  He  retained  all  his  faculties  to  the  last — 
was  utterly  indifferent  to  death, — asking  with  surprise  what 
it  was  we  were  affected  about  since  he  was  perfectly  happy  ? 
— and  kept  his  own  strange  sweetness  of  soul  to  the  end 
— nearly  his  last  words  to  me,  as  I  was  fanning  him,  were 
*  I  am  so  afraid  that  I  fatigue  you,  dear  I '  this,  while  his 
sufferings  were  great ;  for  the  strength  of  his  constitution 
seemed  impossible  to  be  subdued.  He  wanted  three  weeks 
exactly  to  complete  his  eighty-fifth  year.  So  passed  away 
this  good,  unworldly,  kind-hearted,  religious  man,  whose 
powers  natural  and  acquired  would  so  easily  have  made 
him  a  notable  man,  had  he  known  what  vanity  or  ambition 
or  the  love  of  money  or  social  influence  meant.    As  it  is, 


264.  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1866^ 

he  was  known  by  half-a-dozen  friends.  He  was  worthy  of 
being  Ba's  father — out  of  the  whole  world,  only  he,  so 
far  as  my  experience  goes.  She  loved  him, — and  he  said, 
very  recently,  while  gazing  at  her  portrait,  that  only  that 
picture  had  put  into  his  head  that  there  might  be  such  a 
thing  as  the  worship  of  the  images  of  saints.  My  sister 
will  come  and  live  with  me  henceforth.  You  see  what  she 
loses.  All  her  life  has  been  spent  in  caring  for  my  mother, 
and  seventeen  years  after  that,  my  father.  You  may  be 
sure  she  does  not  rave  and  rend  hair  like  people  who  have 
plenty  to  atone  for  in  the  past  ;  but  she  loses  very  much. 
I  returned  to  London  last  night.  ..." 

During  his  hurried  journey  to  Paris,  Mr.  Browning  was 
mentally  blessing  the  Emperor  for  having  abolished  the 
system  of  passports,  and  thus  enabled  him  to  reach  his 
father's  bedside  in  time.  His  early  Italian  journeys  had 
brought  him  some  vexatious  experience  of  the  old  order  of 
things.  Once,  at  Venice,  he  had  been  mistaken  for  a 
well-known  Liberal,  Dr.  Bowring,  and  found  it  almost 
impossible  to  get  his  passport  "  vise  ;  "  and,  on  another 
occasion,  it  aroused  suspicion  by  being  "  too  good ; " 
though  in  what  sense  I  do  not  quite  remember. 

Miss  Browning  did  come  to  Hve  with  her  brother,  and 
was  thenceforward  his  inseparable  companion.  Her 
presence  with  him  must  therefore  be  understood  wherever 
I  have  had  no  special  reason  for  mentioning  it. 

They  tried  Dinard  for  the  remainder  of  the  summer ; 
but  finding  it  unsuitable,  proceeded  by  St.-Malo  to  Le 
Croisic,  the  little  sea-side  town  of  south-eastern  Brittany 
which  two  of  Mr.  Browning's  poems  have  since  rendered 
famous. 


18G7]  ROBERT  BROWNIxNG  265 

The  following  extract  has  no  date. 

"  Le  Croisic,  Loire  Inf^rieure. 
"...  "We  all  found  Dinard  unsuitable,  and  after 
staying  a  few  days  at  St.-Malo  resolved  to  try  this  place, 
and  well  for  us,  since  it  serves  our  purpose  capitally.  .  .  . 
We  are  in  the  most  delicious  and  peculiar  old  house  I  ever 
occupied,  the  oldest  in  the  town — plenty  of  great  rooms — 
nearly  as  much  space  as  in  Villa  Alberti.  The  little  town 
and  surrounding  country  are  wild  and  primitive,  even  a 
trifle  beyond  Pornic  perhaps.  Close  by  is  Batz,  a  village 
where  the  men  dress  in  white  from  head  to  foot,  with 
baggy  breeches,  and  great  black  flap  hats  ; — opposite  is 
Guerande,  the  old  capital  of  Bretagne :  you  have  read 
about  it  in  Balzac's  Beatrix^ — and  other  interesting  places 
are  near.  The  sea  is  all  round  our  peninsula,  and  on  the 
whole  I  expect  we  shall  like  it  very  much.  ..." 

"  Later. 

"...  We  enjoyed  Croisic  increasingly  to  the  last — 
spite  of  three  weeks'  vile  weather,  in  striking  contrast  to 
the  golden  months  at  Pornic  last  year.  I  often  went  to 
Guerande — once  Sarianna  and  I  walked  from  it  in  two 
hours  and  something  under, — nine  miles  : — though  from 
our  house,  straight  over  the  sands  and  sea,  it  is  not  half  the 
distance.  ..." 

In  1867  Mr.  Browning  received  his  first  and  greatest 
academic  honours.  The  M.A.  degree  by  diploma  of  the 
University  of  Oxford  was  conferred  on  him  in  June  ;  ^  and 

'  "  Not  a  lower  degree  than  that  of  D.O.L.,  but  a  much  higher 
honour,  hardly  given  since  Dr.  Johnson's  time  except  to  kings  and 
royal  personages.  ..."  So  the  Keeper  of  the  Archives  [?  BegistrarJ 
wrote  to  Mr.  Brovming  at  the  time. 


^66  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1867- 

in  the  month  of  October  he  was  made  honorary  Fellow  of 
Balliol  CoUege.  Dr.  Jowett  allows  me  to  publish  the,  as 
he  terms  it,  very  characteristic  letter  in  which  he  acknow- 
ledged the  distinction.  Dr.  Scott,  afterwards  Dean  of 
Eochester,  was  then  Master  of  Balliol. 

19,  Warwick  Crescent :  Oct.  21,  '67. 

Dear  Dr.  Scott, — I  am  altogether  unable  to  say  how  I 
feel  as  to  the  fact  you  communicate  to  me.  I  must  know 
more  intimately  than  you  can  how  little  worthy  I  am  of 
such  an  honour, — you  hardly  can  set  the  value  of  that 
honour,  you  who  give,  as  I  who  take  it. 

Indeed,  there  are  both  "duties  and  emoluments  "  attached 
to  this  position, — duties  of  deep  and  lasting  gratitude,  and 
emoluments  through  which  I  shall  be  wealthy  my  life  long. 
I  have  at  least  loved  learning  and  the  learned,  and  there 
needed  no  recognition  of  my  love  on  their  part  to  warrant 
my  professing  myself,  as  I  do,  dear  Dr.  Scott,  yours  ever 
most  faithfully, 

EOBEET   BeOWNENG. 

In  the  following  year  he  received  and  declined  the 
virtual  offer  of  the  Lord  Eectorship  of  the  University 
of  St.  Andrews,  rendered  vacant  by  the  death  of  Mr.  J. 
S.  Mill. 

He  returned  with  his  sister  to  Le  Croisic  for  the 
summer  of  1867. 

In  June  1868,  Miss  Arabel  Barrett  died,  of  a  rheumatic 
affection  of  the  heart.  As  did  her  sister  seven  years  before, 
she  passed  away  in  Mr.  Browning's  arms.  He  wrote  the 
event  to  Miss  Blagden  as  soon  as  it  occurred,  describing 
also  a  curious  circumstance  attendant  on  it. 


1868]  ROBERT  BROWNING  SG"* 

"  19th  June,  '68. 
"...  You  know  I  am  not  superstitious — here  is  a 
note  I  made  in  a  book,  Tuesday,  July  21,  1863.  'Arabel 
told  me  yesterday  that  she  had  been  much  agitated  by  a 
dream  which  happened  the  night  before,  Sunday,  July  19. 
She  saw  Her  and  asked  "  when  shall  I  be  with  you  ?  "  the 
reply  was,  "Dearest,  in  five  years,"  whereupon  Arabella 
woke.  She  knew  in  her  dream  that  it  was  not  to  the  living 
she  spoke.' — In  five  years,  within  a  month  of  their  com- 
pletion— I  had  forgotten  the  date  of  the  dream,  and 
supposed  it  was  only  three  years  ago,  and  that  two  had  still 
to  run.     Only  a  coincidence,  but  noticeable.  ..." 

In  August  he  writes  again  from  Audierne,  Finisterre 
(Brittany). 

"...  You  never  heard  of  this  place,  I  daresay. 
After  staying  a  few  days  at  Paris  we  started  for  Kennes, — 
reached  Cannes  and  halted  a  little — thence  made  for 
Auray,  where  we  made  excursions  to  Carnac,  Lokmariaker, 
and  Ste.-Anne  d' Auray  ;  all  very  interesting  of  their  kind  ; 
then  saw  Brest,  Morlaix,  St. -Pol  de  Leon,  and  the  sea-port 
Roscoff, — our  intended  bathing  place — it  was  full  of  folk, 
however,  and  otherwise  impracticable,  so  we  had  nothing 
for  it,  but  to  '  rehrousser  chemin '  and  get  to  the  south- 
west again.  At  Quimper  we  heard  (for  a  second  time)  that 
Audierne  would  suit  us  exactly,  and  to  it  we  came — happily, 
for  '  suit '  it  certainly  does.  Look  on  the  map  for  the  most 
westerly  point  of  Bretagne  —  and  of  the  mainland  of 
Europe — there  is  niched  Audierne,  a  delightful  quite 
unspoiled  little  fishing-town,  with  the  open  ocean  in  front, 
and  beautiful  woods,  hills  and  dales,  meadows  and  lanes 
behind  and  around, — sprinkled  here  and  there  with  villages 
each  with  its  fine  old  Church.     Sarianna  and  I  have  just 


268  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1868- 

returned  from  a  four  hours'  walk,  in  the  course  of  which 
we  visited  a  town,  Pont  Croix,  with  a  beautiful  cathedral- 
like building  amid  the  cluster  of  clean  bright  Breton  houses, 
— and  a  little  farther  is  another  church,  '  Notre  Dame  de 
Comfort,'  with  only  a  hovel  or  two  round  it,  worth  the 
journey  from  England  to  see  ;  we  are  therefore  very  well 
off — at  an  inn,  I  should  say,  with  singularly  good,  kind, 
and  liberal  people,  so  have  no  cares  for  the  moment.  May 
you  be  doing  as  well !  The  weather  has  been  most  pro- 
pitious, and  to-day  is  perfect  to  a  wish.  We  bathe,  but 
somewhat  ingloriously,  in  a  smooth  creek  of  mill-pond 
quietude,  (there  being  no  cabins  on  the  bay  itself,)  unlike 
the  great  rushing  waves  of  Croisic — the  water  is  much 
colder.  ..." 

The  tribute  contained  in  this  letter  to  the  merits  of  le 
Pere  Batif oulier  and  his  wife  would  not,  I  think,  be  endorsed 
by  the  few  other  English  travellers  who  have  stayed  at  their 
inn.  The  writer's  own  genial  and  kindly  spirit  no  doubt 
partly  elicited,  and  still  more  supplied,  the  quahties  he  saw 
in  them. 

The  six-volume,  so  long  known  as  "  uniform "  edition 
of  Mr.  Browning's  works,  was  brought  out  in  the  autumn 
of  this  year  by  Messrs.  Smith,  Elder  &  Co. ;  practically  Mr. 
George  Murray  Smith,  who  was  to  be  thenceforward  his 
exclusive  publisher  and  increasingly  valued  friend.  In  the 
winter  months  appeared  the  first  two  volumes  (to  be  followed 
in  the  ensuing  spring  by  the  third  and  fourth)  of  T?is  Ring 
and  the  Book. 

"With  The  Ring  and  the  Book  Mr.  Browning  attained  the 
full  recognition  of  his  genius.  The  Athenceum  spoke  of  it 
as  the  ojius  magnum  of  the  generation ;  not  merely  beyond 


1869]  ROBERT  BROWNING  269 

all  parallel  the  supremest  poetic  achievement  of  the  time, 
but  the  most  precious  and  profound  spiritual  treasure  that 
England  had  produced  since  the  days  of  Shakespeare.  His 
popularity  was  yet  to  come,  so  also  the  widespread  reading 
of  his  hitherto  neglected  poems ;  but  henceforth  whatever 
he  published  was  sure  of  ready  acceptance,  of  just,  if  not 
always  enthusiastic,  appreciation.  The  ground  had  not 
been  gained  at  a  single  leap.  A  passage  in  another  letter 
to  Miss  Blagden  shows  that,  when  The  Ring  and  the  Book 
appeared,  a  high  place  was  already  awaiting  it  outside  those 
higher  academic  circles  in  which  its  author's  position  was 
secured. 

"...  I  want  to  get  done  with  my  poem.  Booksellers 
are  making  me  pretty  offers  for  it.  One  sent  to  propose, 
last  week,  to  pubHsh  it  at  his  risk,  giving  me  all  the  profits, 
and  pay  me  the  whole  in  advance — '  for  the  incidental 
advantages  of  my  name ' — the  R.  B,  who  for  six  months 
once  did  not  sell  one  copy  of  the  poems  1  I  ask  £200  for 
the  sheets  to  America,  and  shall  get  it.  ,  .  . " 

His  presence  in  England  had  doubtless  stimulated  the 
public  interest  in  his  productions  ;  and  we  may  f?jrly  credit 
Dramatis  Personce,  with  having  finally  awakened  his  country- 
men of  all  classes  to  the  fact  that  a  great  creative  power 
had  arisen  among  them.  The  Ring  and  the  Book  and 
Dramatis  Personce,  cannot  indeed  be  dissociated  in  what  was 
the  culminating  moment  in  the  author's  poetic  life,  even 
more  than  the  zenith  of  his  literary  career.  In  their 
expression  of  all  that  constituted  the  wide  range  and  the 
characteristic  quality  of  his  genius,  they  at  once  support 
and  supplement  each  other.     But  a  fact  of  more  distinctive 


270  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1868- 

biographical  interest  connects  itself  exclusively  with   the 
J  liter  work. 

We  cannot  read  the  emotional  passages  of  The,  Ring 
the  Boole  without  hearing  in  them  a  voice  which  is 
not  Mr.  Browning's  own  :  an  echo,  not  of  his  past, 
hut  from  it.  The  remembrance  of  that  past  must  have 
accompanied  him  through  every  stage  of  the  great 
work.  Its  subject  had  come  to  him  in  the  last  days  of 
his  greatest  happiness.  It  had  lived  with  him,  though  in 
the  background  of  consciousness,  through  those  of  his 
keenest  sorrow.  It  was  his  refuge  in  that  aftertime,  in 
which  a  subsiding  grief  often  leaves  a  deeper  sense  of 
isolation.  He  knew  the  joy  with  which  his  wife  would  have 
witnessed  the  diligent  performance  of  this  his  self-imposed 
task.  The  beautiful  dedication  contained  in  the  first  and 
last  books  was  only  a  matter  of  course.  But  Mrs.  Browning's 
spiritual  presence  on  this  occasion  was  more  than  a  pre- 
siding memory  of  the  heart.  I  am  convinced  that  it 
entered  largely  into  the  conception  of  PompiUa,  and,  so  far 
as  this  depended  on  it,  the  character  of  the  whole  work.  In 
the  outward  course  of  her  history,  Mr.  Browning  proceeded 
strictly  on  the  ground  of  fact.  His  dramatic  conscience 
would  not  have  allowed  it  otherwise.  He  had  read  the 
record  of  the  case,  as  he  has  been  heard  to  say,  fully  eight 
times  over  before  converting  it  into  the  substance  of  his 
poem  ;  and  the  form  in  which  he  finally  cast  it,  was  that 
which  recommended  itself  to  him  as  true — which,  within 
certain  limits,  was  true.  The  testimony  of  those  who 
watched  by  Pompiha's  death-bed  is  almost  conclusive  as  to 
the  absence  of  any  criminal  motive  to  her  flight,  cr  criminal 
circumstance  connected  with  it.     Its  time  proved  itself  to 


1869]  ROBERT  BROWNING  271 

have  been  that  of  her  impending,  perhaps  newly  expected 
motherhood,  and  may  have  had  some  reference  to  this  fact. 
But  the  real  Pompilia  was  a  simple  child,  who  lived  in 
bodily  terror  of  her  husband,  and  had  made  repeated  efforts 
to  escape  from  him.  Unless  my  memory  much  deceives  me, 
her  physical  condition  plays  no  part  in  the  historical  defence 
©f  her  flight.  If  it  appeared  there  at  all,  it  was  as  a  merely 
practical  incentive  to  her  striving  to  place  herself  in  safety. 
The  sudden  rapturous  sense  of  maternity  which,  in  the 
poetic  rendering  of  the  case,  becomes  her  impulse  to  self- 
protection,  was  beyond  her  age  and  her  culture  ;  it  was  not 
suggested  by  the  facts  ;  and,  what  is  more  striking,  it  was 
not  a  natural  development  of  Mr.  Browning's  imagination 
concerning  them. 

The  parental  instinct  was  among  the  weakest  in  his 
nature — a  fact  which  renders  the  more  conspicuous  his 
devotion  to  his  own  son ;  it  finds  little  or  no  expression  in 
his  work.  The  apotheosis  of  motherhood  which  he  puts 
forth  through  the  aged  priest  in  Ivan  Ivanovitch  was  due 
to  the  poetic  necessity  of  lifting  a  ghastly  human  punish- 
ment into  the  sphere  of  Divine  retribution.  Even  in  the 
advancing  years  which  soften  the  father  into  the  grand- 
father, the  essential  quality  of  early  childhood  was  not  that 
which  appealed  to  him.  He  would  admire  its  flower-like 
beauty,  but  not  linger  over  it.  He  had  no  special  emotion 
for  its  helplessness.  "When  he  was  attracted  by  a  child  it 
was  through  the  evidence  of  something  not  only  distinct 
from,  but  opposed  to  this.  "  It  is  the  soul "  (I  see)  "  in 
that  speck  of  a  body,"  he  said,  not  many  years  ago,  of  a 
tiny  boy — now  too  big  for  it  to  be  desirable  that  I  should 
mention  his  name,  but  whose  mother,  if  she  reads  this,  wUl 


X 


272  LIFE  AND  LETTERS   OF  [1868- 

know  to  whom  I  allude — who  had  delighted  him  by  an  act 
of  intelligent  grace  which  seemed  beyond  his  years.  The 
ingenuously  unbounded  maternal  pride,  the  almost  luscious 
maternal  sentiment,  of  Pompilia's  dying  moments  can  only 
associate  themselves  in  our  mind  with  Mrs.  Browning's 
personal  utterances,  and  some  notable  passages  in  Cam 
Guidi  Windows  and  Aurora  Leigh.  Even  the  exalted 
fervour  of  the  invocation  to  Caponsacchi,  its  blending  of 
spiritual  ecstasy  with  half-realized  earthly  emotion,  has,  I 
think,  no  parallel  in  her  husband's  work. 

Pompilia  bears,  still,  unmistakably,  the  stamp  of  her 
author's  genius.  Only  he  could  have  imagined  her  peculiar 
form  of  consciousness ;  her  childlike,  wondering,  yet 
subtle,  perception  of  the  anomalies  of  life.  He  has  raised 
the  woman  in  her  from  the  typical  to  the  individual  by  this 
distinguishing  touch  of  his  supreme  originality ;  and  thus 
infused  into  her  character  a  haunting  pathos  which  renders 
it  to  many  readers  the  most  exquisite  in  the  whole  range  of 
his  creations.  For  others,  at  the  same  time,  it  fails  in  the 
impressiveness  because  it  lacks  the  reality  which  habitually 
marks  them. 

So  much  however,  is  certain  :  Mr.  Browning  would 
never  have  accepted  this  "  murder  story  "  as  the  subject  of 
a  poem,  if  he  could  not  in  some  sense  have  made  it 
poetical.  It  was  only  in  an  idealized  Pompilia  that  the 
material  for  such  a  process  could  be  found.  We  owe  it, 
therefore,  to  the  one  departure  from  his  usual  mode  of 
dramatic  conception,  that  the  Poet's  masterpiece  has  been 
produced.  I  know  no  other  instance  of  what  can  be  even 
mistaken  for  reflected  inspiration  in  the  whole  range  of  hia 
work,  the  given  passages  in  Pauline  excepted. 


1869]  ROBERT  BROWNING  273 

The  postscript  of  a  letter  to  Frederic  Leigliton  written 
so  far  back  as  October  17,  1864,  is  interesting  in  its  con- 
nection with  the  preliminary  stages  of  this  great  under- 
taking. 

"  A  favour,  if  you  have  time  for  it.  Go  into  the  church 
St.  Lorenzo  in  Lucina  in  the  Corso — and  look  attentively 
at  it — so  as  to  describe  it  to  me  on  your  return.  The 
general  arrangement  of  the  building,  if  with  a  nave — 
pillars  or  not — the  number  of  altars,  and  any  particularity 
there  may  be — over  the  High  Altar  is  a  famous  Crucifixion 
by  Guido.  It  will  be  of  great  use  to  me.  .  I  don'fc  care 
about  the  outside,*^ 


274.  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF 


CHAPTER  XVII 

18G9-1873 

Lord  Dufferin  ;  Helen's  Tower — Scotland ;  Visits  to  Lady  Ash- 
burton  and  Naworth  Castle — Letters  to  Miss  Blagden — St.- 
Aubin  ;  The  Franco-Prussian  War — Herve  Biel — Letter  to  Mr. 
G.  M.  Smith — Balaustion's  Adventure;  Prince  Eohenstiel- 
Schwangau — Fifine  at  the  Fair — Mistaken  Theories  of  Mr. 
Browning's  Work — St.-Aubin ;  Ited  Cotton  Nightcap  Country. 

From  1869  to  1871  Mr.  Browning  published  nothing  ;  but 
in  April  1870  he  wrote  the  sonnet  called  Helen'' s  Tower, 
a  beautiful  tribute  to  the  memory  of  Helen,  mother  of 
Lord  Dufferin,  for  inscription  on  the  memorial  tower  which 
her  son  was  erecting  to  her  on  his  estate  at  Clandeboye.  The 
sonnet  appeared  in  1883,  in  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  and  was 
reprinted  in  1886,  in  Sonnets  of  the  Century,  edited  by  Mr. 
Sharp ;  and  again  in  the  fifth  part  of  the  Browning 
Society's  Pajiers ;  but  it  is  still,  I  think,  sufficiently  little 
known  to  justify  its  reproduction. 

Who  hears  of  Helen's  Tower  may  dream  perchance 
How  the  Greek  Beauty  from  the  Scsean  Gate 
Gazed  on  old  friends  unanimous  in  hate, 

Death-doom'd  because  of  her  fair  countenance. 

Hearts  would  leap  otherwise  at  thy  advance, 
Lady,  to  whom  this  Tower  is  consecrate  1 
Like  hers,  thy  face  once  made  all  eyes  elate, 

Yet,  unlike  hers,  was  bless'd  by  every  glance. 


1870]  ROBERT  BROWNING  £76 

The  Tower  of  Hate  is  outworn,  far  and  strange ; 
A  transitory  shame  of  long  ago, 

It  dies  into  the  sand  from  which  it  sprang ; 
But  thine,  Love's  rock-built  Tower,  shall  fear  no  change. 
God's  self  laid  stable  earth's  foundations  so. 
When  all  the  morning-stars  together  sang. 

April  26,  1870. 

Lord  DufFerin  was  a  warm  admirer  of  Mr.  Browning's 
genius.     He  also  held  him  in  strong  personal  regard. 

In  the  summer  of  1869  the  poet,  with  his  sister  and 
son,  changed  the  manner  of  his  holiday,  by  joining  Mr. 
Story  and  hjs  family  in  a  tour  in  Scotland,  and  a  visit  to 
Louisa,  Lady  Ashburton,  at  Loch  Luichart  Lodge ;  ^  but 
in  the  August  of  1870  he  was  again  in  the  primitive 
atmosphere  of  a  French  fishing  village,  though^ne  which 
had  little  to  recommend  it  but  the  society  of  a  friend  ;  it 
was  M.  Milsand's  St.-Aubin.  He  had  writien,  February  24, 
to  Miss  Blagden,  under  the  one  inspiration  which  naturally 
recurred  in  his  correspondence  with  her. 

"...  So  you,  too,  think  of  Naples  for  an  eventual 
resting-place !  Yes,  that  is  the  proper  basking-ground  for 
'  bright  and  aged  snakes.'  Florence  would  be  irritating,  and, 
on  the  whole,  insufferable — Yet  I  never  hear  of  any  one 
going  thither  but  my  heart  is  twitched.  There  is  a  good, 
charming,  little  singing  German  lady.  Miss  Regan,  who  told 
me  the  other  day  that  she  was  just  about  revisiting  her  aunt, 
Madame  Sabatier,  whom  you  may  know,  or  know  of — and 

•  [To  this  time  (Sept.  19)  also  belongs  a  visit  to  Naworth  Castle, 
when  the  Earl  of  Carlisle  performed  for  Browning  the  same  function 
as  Rossetti  did  for  Tennyson,  by  sketching  him  in  the  act  of  reading 
his  own  poetry.  The  two  sketches  are  reproduced  in  vols.  i.  and 
vi.  of  the  eight-volume  India  paper  edition  of  his  "  Poetical 
Works  "  (1902).] 


276  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF  [1870 

I  felt  as  if  I  should  immensely  like  to  glide,  for  a  long 
summer-day,  through  the  streets  and  between  the  old  stone- 
walls,— unseen  come  and  unheard  go — perhaps  by  some 
miracle,  I  shall  do  so — and  look  up  at  Villa  Brichieri  as 
Arnold's  Gypsy-Scholar  gave  one  wistful  look  at  '  the  line 
of  festal  light  in  Christ  Church  Hall,'  before  he  went  to 
sleep  in  some  forgotten  grange.  ...  I  am  so  glad  I  can  be 
comfortable  in  your  comfort.  I  fancy  exactly  how  you  feel 
and  see  how  you  live  :  it  is  the  Villa  Geddes  of  old  days, 
I  find.  I  well  remember  the  fine  view  from  the  upper 
room — that  looking  down  the  steep  hill,  by  the  side  of  which 
runs  the  road  you  describe — that  path  was  always  my  pre- 
ferred walk,  for  its  shortness  (abruptness)  and  the  fine  old 
wall  to  your  left  (from  the  Villa)  which  is  overgrown  with 
weeds  and  wild  flowers — violets  and  gi'ound-ivy,  I  remember. 
Oh,  me !  to  find  myself  some  late  sunshiny  Sunday  after- 
noon, with  my  face  turned  to  Florence — '  ten  minutes  to 
the  gate,  ten  minutes  home  I '  I  think  I  should  fairly  end  it 
all  on  the  spot.  ..." 

He  writes  again  from  St.-Aubin,  August  19,  1870  ; 

"Dearest  Isa, — Your  htter  came  prosperously  to  this 
little  wild  place,  where  we  have  been,  Sarianna  and  myself, 
just  a  week.  Milsand  lives  in  a  cottage  with  a  nice  bit  of 
garden,  two  steps  off,  and  we  occupy  another  of  the  most 
primitive  kind  on  the  sea-sbore — which  shore  is  a  good 
sandy  stretch  for  miles  and  miles  on  either  side.  I  don't 
think  we  were  ever  quite  so  thoroughly  washed  by  the  sea- 
air  from  all  quarters  as  here — the  weather  is  fine,  and  we 
do  well  enough.  The  sadness  of  the  war  and  its  consequences 
go  far  to  paralyse  all  our  pleasure,  however.  .  .  , 

"  Well,  you  are  at  Siena — one  of  the  places  I  love  best 
to  remember.    You  are  returned — or  I  would  ask  you  to 


1870J  ROBERT  BROWNING  277 

tell  me  how  the  Villa  Albert!  wears,  and  if  the  fig-tree 
behind  the  house  is  green  and  strong  yet.  I  have  a  pen- 
and-ink  drawing  of  it,  dated  and  signed  the  last  day  Ba  was 
ever  there — '  my  fig  tree — '  she  used  to  sit  under  it,  reading 
and  writing.  Nine  years,  or  ten  rather,  since  then  !  Poor 
old  Landor's  oak,  too,  and  his  cottage,  ought  not  to  be  for- 
gotten. Exactly  opposite  this  house, — just  over  the  way  of 
the  water, — shines  every  night  the  light-house  of  Havre — a 
place  I  know  well,  and  love  very  moderately  :  but  it  always 
gives  me  a  thrill  as  I  see  afar,  exactly  a  particular  spot  which 
I  was  at  along  with  her.  At  this  moment,  I  see  the  white 
Btreak  of  the  phare  in  the  sun,  from  the  window  where 
I  write  and  I  think.  .  .  .  Milsand  went  to  Paris  last  week, 
just  before  we  arrived,  to  transport  his  valuables  to  a  safer 
place  than  his  house,  which  is  near  the  fortifications.  He 
is  filled  with  as  much  despondency  as  can  be — while  the  old 
dear  and  perfect  kindness  remains.  I  never  knew  or  shall 
know  his  like  among  men.  ..." 

The  war  did  more  than  sadden  Mr.  and  Miss  Browning's 
visit  to  St.-Aubin  ;  it  opposed  unlooked-for  difficulties  to 
their  return  home.  They  had  remained,  unconscious  of  the 
impending  danger,  till  Sedan  had  been  taken,  the  Emperor's 
downfall  proclaimed,  and  the  country  suddenly  placed  in  a 
state  of  siege.  One  morning  M.  Milsand  came  to  them  in 
anxious  haste,  and  insisted  on  their  starting  that  very  day. 
An  order,  he  said,  had  been  issued  that  no  native  should 
leave  the  country,  and  it  only  needed  some  unusually  thick- 
neaded  Maire  for  Mr.  Browning  to  be  arrested  as  a  runaway 
Frenchman  or  a  Prussian  spy.  The  usual  passenger  boats 
from  Calais  and  Boulogne  no  longer  ran  ;  but  there  was,  he 
beheved,  a  chance  of  their  finding  one  at  Havre.  They 
acted  on  this  warning,  and  discovered  its  wisdom  in  the 


278  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1870- 

various  hindrances  which  they  found  on  their  way.  Every- 
where the  horses  had  been  requisitioned  for  the  war.  The 
boat  on  which  they  had  relied  to  take  them  down  the  river 
to  Caen  had  been  stopped  that  very  morning  ;  and  when 
they  reached  the  railroad  th.y  were  told  that  the  Pi-ussians 
would  be  at  the  other  end  before  night.  At  last  they 
arrived  at  Honfleur,  where  they  found  an  English  vessel 
which  was  about  to  convey  cattle  to  Southampton  ;  and  in 
this,  setting  out  at  midnight,  they  made  their  passage  to 
England. 

Some  words  addressed  to  Miss  Blagden,  written  I  believe 
in  1871,  once  more  strike  a  touching  familiar  note. 

"...  But  no,  dearest  Isa.  The  simple  truth  is  that 
she  was  the  poet,  and  I  the  clever  person  by  comparison — • 
remember  her  limited  experience  of  all  kinds,  and  what  she 
made  of  it.  Remember,  on  the  other  hand,  how  my  uninter- 
rupted health  and  strength  and  practice  with  the  world  have 
helped  me.  ..." 

Balaustion's  Adventure  and  Prince  Eohenstiel-Schwangau 
were  published,  respectively,  in  August  and  December  1871. 
They  had  been  preceded  in  the  March  of  the  same  year  by 
a  ballad,  Herv'e  Riel,  afterwards  reprinted  in  the  Pacchiarotto 
volume,  which  Mr.  Browning  now  sold  to  the  Cornhill 
Magazine  for  the  benefit  of  the  French  sufferers  by  the  war. 

The  circumstances  of  this  little  transaction,  unique  in 
Mr.  Browning's  experience,  are  set  forth  in  the  following 
letter ; 

"  Feb.  4,  71. 
"My  dear  Smith, — I  want  to  give  something  to  the 
people  in  Paris,  and  can  afford  so  very  little  just  now,  that 


1871]  ROBERT  BROWNING  279 

I  am  forced  upou  an  expedient.  Will  you  buy  of  me  tliat 
i  poem  which  poor  Simeon  praised  in  a  letter  you  saw,  and 
which  I  like  better  than  most  things  I  have  done  of  late  ? — 
Buy, — I  mean, — the  right  of  printing  it  in  the  Pall  Mall 
and,  if  you  please,  the  Cornhill  also, — the  copyright  remain- 
ing with  me.  You  remember  you  wanted  to  print  it  in  the 
Cornhill,  and  I  was  obstinate  :  there  is  hardly  any  occasion 
on  which  I  should  be  otherwise,  if  the  printing  any  poem  of 
mine  in  a  magazine  were  purely  for  my  own  sake  :  so,  any 
liberality  you  exercise  will  not  be  drawn  into  a  precedent 
against  you.  I  fancy  this  is  a  case  in  which  one  may 
handsomely  puff  one's  own  ware,  and  I  venture  to  call  my 
verses  good  for  once.  I  send  them  to  you  directly,  because 
expedition  will  render  whatever  I  contribute  more  valuable  : 
for  when  you  make  up  your  mind  as  to  how  liberally  I  shall 
be  enabled  to  give,  you  must  send  me  a  cheque  and  I  will 
send  the  same  as  the  '  Product  of  a  Poem ' — so  that  your 
light  will  shine  deservedly.  Now,  begin  proceedings  by 
reading  the  poem  to  Mrs.  Smith, — by  whose  judgment  I 
will  cheerfully  be  bound ;  and,  with  her  approval,  second 
my  endeavour  as  best  you  can.  Would, — for  the  love  of 
France, — that  this  were  a  '  Song  of  a  Wren ' — then  should 
the  guineas  equal  the  lines ;  as  it  is,  do  what  you  safely 
may  for  the  song  of  a  Eobin — Browning — who  is  yours 
very  truly,  into  the  bargain. 

"  P.S.  The  copy  is  so  clear  and  careful  that  you  might, 
with  a  good  Reader,  print  it  on  Monday,  nor  need  my  help 
for  corrections :  I  shall  however  be  always  at  home,  and 
ready  at  the  moment's  notice :  return  the  copy,  if  you 
please,  as  I  promised  it  to  my  son  long  ago." 

Mr.  Smith  gave  him  100  guineas  as  the  price  of  the 
poem. 

He  wrote  concerning  the  two  longer  poems,  first  probably 


280  LIFE   AND   LETTERS  OF  [1871- 

at  the  close  of  this  year,  and  again  in  January  1872,  to 
Miss  Blagden. 

"...  By  this  time  you  have  got  my  little  book 
{Rohenstiel)  and  seen  for  yourself  whether  I  make  the  best 
or  the  worst  of  the  case.  I  think,  in  the  main,  he  meant 
to  do  what  I  say,  and,  but  for  weakness, — grown  more 
apparent  in  his  last  years  than  formerly — would  have  done 
what  I  say  he  did  not,^  I  thought  badly  of  him  at  the 
beginning  of  his  career,  etpour  cause  :  better  afterward,  on 
the  strength  of  the  promises  he  made,  and  gave  indications 
of  intending  to  redeem.  I  think  him  very  weak  in  the  last 
miserable  year.  At  his  worst  I  prefer  him  to  Thiers'  best. 
I  am  told  my  little  thing  is  succeeding — sold  1,400  in  the 
first  five  days,  and  before  any  notice  appeared.  I  remember 
that  the  year  I  made  the  little  rough  sketch  in  Rome,  '60, 
my  account  for  the  last  fix  months  with  Chapman  was — 
nil,  not  one  copy  disposed  of  !  .  .  . 

"...  I  am  glad  you  like  what  the  editor  of  the 
Edinburgh  calls  my  eulogium  on  the  second  empire, — which 
it  is  not,  any  more  than  what  another  wiseacre  affirms  it  to 
be  'a  scandalous  attack  on  the  old  constant  friend  of 
England ' —  it  is  just  what  I  imagine  the  man  might,  if  he 
pleased,  say  for  himself." 

Mr.  Browning  continues : 

"Spite  of  my  ailments  and  bewailments  I  have  just  all 
but  finished  another  poem  of  quite  another  kind,  which 
shall  amuse  you  in  the  spring,  I  hope  !  I  don't  go  sound 
asleep  at  aU  events.  Balaustion — the  second  edition  is  in 
the  press,  I  think  I  told  you.  2,500  in  five  months  is  a 
good  sale  for  the  likes  of  me.     But  I  met  Henry  Taylor 

>  This  phrase  is  a  little  misleading. 


1872]  ROBERT   BROWNING  281 

(of  Artevelde)  two  days  ago  at  dinner,  and  he  said  he  had 
never  gained  anything  by  his  books,  which  surely  is  a  shame 
— I  mean,  if  no  buyers  mean  no  readers.  ..." 

Prince  Hohenstiel-Schwangau  was  written  in  Scotland, 
where  Mr.  Browning  was  the  guest  of  Mr.  Ernest  Benzon  : 
having  left  his  sister  to  the  care  of  M.  and  Madame 
Milsand  at  St.-Aubin.  The  ailment  he  speaks  of  consisted, 
I  believe,  of  a  severe  cold.  Another  of  the  occurrences  of 
1871  was  Mr.  Browning's  election  as  Life  Governor  of 
London  University. 

A  passage  from  a  letter  dated  March  30,  '72,  bears 
striking  testimony  to  the  constant  warmth  of  his  affections. 

"...  The  misfortune,  which  I  did  not  guess  when  I 
accepted  the  invitation,  is  that  I  shall  lose  some  of  the 
last  days  of  Milsand,  who  has  been  here  for  the  last 
month  :  no  words  can  express  the  love  I  have  for  him,  you 
know.  He  is  increasingly  precious  to  me.  .  .  .  Waring 
came  back  the  other  day,  after  thirty  years'  absence,  the 
same  as  ever, — nearly.  He  has  been  Prime  Minister  at 
New  Zealand  for  a  year  and  a  half,  but  gets  tired,  and 
returns  home  with  a  poem."  ^ 

This  is  my  last  extract  from  the  correspondence  with 
Miss  Blagden.  Her  death  closed  it  altogether  within  the 
year. 

It  is  difficult  to  infer  from  letters,  however  intimate, 
the  dominant  state  of  the  writer's  mind  :  most  of  all  to  do 

*  Banolf  and  Amohia.  [On  Domett's  return  to  England,  and 
his  resumption  (to  some  extent)  of  the  relations  with  Browning 
which  had  been  interrupted  by  the  latter's  marriage  and  departure 
to  Italy,  see  Robert  Browning  and  Alfred  Domett,  p.  144  fi.] 


LIFE  AND   LETTERS   OF  [1872 

BO  in  Mr.  Browning's  case,  from  such  passages  of  his 
correspondence  as  circumstances  allow  me  to  quote. 
Letters  written  in  intimacy,  and  to  the  same  friend,  often 
express  a  recurrent  mood,  a  revived  set  of  associations, 
which  for  the  moment  destroys  the  habitual  balance  of 
feeling.  The  same  effect  is  sometimes  produced  in 
personal  intercourse  ;  and  the  more  varied  the  life,  the 
more  versatile  the  nature,  the  more  readily  in  either  case 
will  a  lately  unused  spring  of  emotion  well  up  at  the 
passing  touch.  We  may  even  fancy  we  read  into  the 
letters  of  1870  that  eerie,  haunting  sadness  of  a  cherished 
memory  from  which,  in  spite  of  ourselves,  life  is  bearing  us 
away.  TVe  may  also  err  in  so  doing.  But  literary 
creation,  patiently  carried  on  through  a  given  period,  is 
usually  a  fair  reflection  of  the  general  moral  and  mental 
conditions  under  which  it  has  taken  place  ;  and  it  would  be 
hard  to  imagine  from  Mr.  Browning's  work  during  these 
last  ten  years  that  any  but  gracious  influences  had  been 
operating  upon  his  genius,  any  more  disturbing  element 
than  the  sense  of  privation  and  loss  had  entered  into  his 
inner  life. 

Some  leaven  of  bitterness  must,  nevertheless,  have  been 
working  within  him,  or  he  could  never  have  produced  that 
piece  of  perplexing  cynicism,  Fifine  at  the  Fair — the  poem 
referred  to  as  in  progress  in  a  letter  to  Miss  Blagden,  and 
which  appeared  in  the  spring  of  1872.  The  disturbing 
cause  had  been  also  of  long  standing ;  for  the  deeper 
reactive  processes  of  Mr.  Browning's  nature  were  as  slow  as 
its  more  superficial  response  was  swift ;  and  while  Dramatis 
Personm,  The  Ring  and  the  Boole,  and  even  Balaustion's 
Adventure,  represented  the  gradually  perfected  substance  of 


1872]  ROBERT  BROWNING  283 

his  poetic  imagination,  Fifine  at  the  Fair  was  as  the  froth 
thrown  up  by  it  during  the  prolonged  simmering  which 
was  to  leave  it  clear.  The  work  displays  the  iridescent 
brightness  as  well  as  the  occasional  impurity  of  this  froth- 
like  character.  Beauty  and  ugliness  are,  indeed,  almost 
inseparable  in  the  moral  impression  which  it  leaves  upon 
us.  The  author  has  put  forth  a  plea  for  self-indulgence 
with  a  much  slighter  attempt  at  dramatic  disguise  than  his 
special  pleadings  generally  assume  ;  ^  and  while  allowing 
circumstances  to  expose  the  sophistry  of  the  position,  and 
punish  its  attendant  act,  he  does  not  sulficiently  condemn 
it.  But,  in  identifying  himself  for  the  moment  with  the 
conception  of  a  Don  Juan,  he  has  infused  iuto  it  a  tender- 
ness and  a  poetry  with  which  the  true  type  had  very  little 
in  common,  and  which  retard  its  dramatic  development. 
Those  who  knew  Mr.  Browning,  or  who  thoroughly  know 
his  work,  may  censure,  regret,  fail  to  understand  Fifine  at  the 
Fair ;  they  will  never  in  any  important  sense  misconstrue  it. 
But  it  has  been  so  misconstrued  by  an  intelligent  and 
not  unsympathetic  critic ;  and  his  construction  may  be 
endorsed  by  other  persons  in  the  present,  and  still  more  in 
the  future,  in  whom  the  elements  of  a  truer  judgement  are 
wanting.  It  seems,  therefore,  best  to  protest  at  once 
against  the  misjudgement,  though  in  so  doing  I  am  claiming 
for  it  an  attention  which  it  may  not  seem  to  deserve.  I 
allude  to  Mr.  Mortimer's  Note  on  Browning  in  the  Scottish 
Art  Review  for  December  1889.  This  note  contains  a 
summary  of  Mr.  Browning's  teaching,  which  it  resolves 

[*  The  poem  (like  its  predecessor,  Prince  Hohenstiel-Schwangau) 
is  written  in  the  first  person,  but  it  seems  incredible  that  anyone 
Bhould  take  it  to  be  anything  but  a  dramatic  study  of  a  temperament 
wholly  alien  from  that  of  the  poet.] 


284  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1872 

into  the  moral  equivalent  of  the  doctrine  of  the  conserva- 
tion of  force.  Mr.  Mortimer  assumes  for  the  purpose  of 
his  comparison  that  the  exercise  of  force  means  necessarily 
moving  on  ;  and  according  to  him  Mr.  Browning  prescribes 
action  at  any  price,  even  that  of  defying  the  restrictions  of 
moral  law.  He  thus,  we  are  told,  blames  the  lovers  in  The 
Statue  and  the  Bu4  for  their  failure  to  carry  out  what  was 
an  immoral  intention  ;  and,  in  the  person  of  his  Don  Juan, 
defends  a  husband's  claim  to  relieve  the  fixity  of  conjugal 
affection  by  varied  adventure  in  the  world  of  temporary 
loves  :  the  result  being  "  the  negation  of  that  convention 
under  which  we  habitually  view  life,  but  which  for  some 
reason  or  other  breaks  down  when  we  have  to  face  the 
problems  of  a  Goethe,  a  Shelley,  a  Byron,  or  a  Browning." 

Mr.  Mortimer's  generalization  does  not  apply  to  Thd 
Statue  and  the  Bust,  since  Mr.  Browning  has  made  it  per- 
fectly clear  that,  in  this  case,  the  intended  act  is  postponed 
without  reference  to  its  morality,  and  simply  in  consequence 
of  a  weakness  of  will,  which  would  have  been  as  paralyzing 
to  a  good  purpose  as  it  was  to  the  bad  one  ;  but  it  is  not 
without  superficial  sanction  in  Fifine  at  the  Fair ;  and  the 
part  which  the  author  allowed  himself  to  play  in  it  did  him 
an  injustice  only  to  be  measured  by  the  inference  which 
it  has  been  made  to  support.  There  could  be  no  mistake 
more  ludicrous,  were  it  less  regrettable,  than  that  of  classing 
Mr.  Browning,  on  moral  grounds,  with  Byron  or  Shelley  ; 
even  in  the  case  of  Goethe  the  analogy  breaks  down.  The 
evidence  of  the  foregoing  pages  has  rendered  all  protest 
superfluous.  But  the  suggested  moral  resemblance  to  the 
two  English  poets  receives  a  striking  comment  in  a  fact  of 
Mr.  Browning's  life  which  falls  practically  into  the  present 


1872]  ROBERT   BROWMING  285 

period  of  our  history  ;  his  withdrawal  from  Shelley  of  the 
devotion  of  more  than  forty  years  on  account  of  an  act  of 
heartlessness  towards  his  first  wife  which  he  held  to  have 
been  proved  against  him. 

The  sweet  and  the  bitter  lay,  indeed,  very  close  to  each 
other  at  the  sources  of  Mr.  Browning's  inspiration.  Both 
proceeded,  in  great  measure,  from  his  spiritual  allegiance  to 
the  past — that  past  by  which  it  was  impossible  that  he 
should  linger,  but  which  he  could  not  yet  leave  behind. 
The  present  came  to  him  with  friendly  greeting.  He  was 
unconsciously,  perhaps  inevitably,  unjust  to  what  it  brought. 
The  injustice  reacted  upon  himself,  and  developed  by 
degrees  into  the  cynical  mood  of  fancy  which  became  mani- 
fest in  Fifine  at  the  Fair. 

It  is  true  that,  in  the  light  of  this  explanation,  we  see 
an  effect  very  unlike  its  cause  ;  but  the  chemistry  of  human 
emotion  is  Uke  that  of  natural  life.  It  will  often  form  a 
compound  in  which  neither  of  its  constituents  can  be  recog- 
nized. This  perverse  poem  was  the  last  as  well  as  the  first 
manifestation  of  an  ungenial  mood  of  Mr.  Browning's  mind. 
A  slight  exception  may  be  made  for  some  passages  in  Red 
Cotton  Nightcap  Gou7itry,  and  for  one  of  the  poems  of  the 
Pacchiarotto  volume  ;  but  otherwise  no  sign  of  moral  or 
mental  disturbance  betrays  itself  in  his  subsequent  work. 
The  past  and  the  present  gradually  assumed  for  him  a  more 
just  relation  to  each  other.  He  learned  to  meet  life  as  it 
offered  itself  to  him  with  a  more  frank  recognition  of  its 
good  gifts,  a  more  grateful  response  to  them.  He  grew 
happier,  hence  more  genial,  as  the  years  advanced. 

It  was  not  without  misgiving  that  Mr.  Browning  pub- 
lished  Fifine  at  the  Fair;    but  many  years  were  to  pass 


286  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [I872- 

before  he  realized  the  kind  of  criticism  to  which  it  had 
exposed  him.  The  belief  conveyed  in  the  letter  to  Miss 
Blagden  that  what  proceeds  from  a  genuine  inspiration  is 
justified  by  it,  combintd  with  the  indifference  to  public 
opinion  which  had  been  engendered  in  him  by  its  long 
negkct,  made  him  slow  to  anticipate  the  results  of  external 
judgement,  even  where  he  was  in  some  degree  prepared 
to  endorse  them.     For  his  value  as  a  poet,  it  was  best  so. 

The  August  of  1872  and  of  1873  again  found  him  with 
his  sister  at  St.-Aubin,  and  the  earlier  visit  was  an  important 
one  :  since  it  supplied  him  with  the  materials  of  his  next 
work,  of  which  Miss  Annie  Thackeray,  there  also  for  a  few 
days,  suggested  the  title.  The  tragic  drama  which  forms 
the  subject  of  Mr.  Browning's  poem  had  been  in  great  part 
enacted  in  the  vicinity  of  St.-Aubin;  and  the  case  of  dis- 
puted inheritance  to  which  it  had  given  rise  was  pending 
at  that  moment  in  the  tribunals  of  Caen.  The  prevailing 
impression  left  on  Miss  Thackeray's  mind  by  this  primitive 
district  was,  she  declared,  that  of  white  cotton  nightcaps 
(the  habitual  headgear  of  the  Normandy  peasants).  She 
engaged  to  write  a  story  called  WJiite  Cotton  Niglitcap 
Country ;  and  Mr.  Browning's  quick  sense  of  both  contrast 
and  analogy  inspired  the  introduction  of  this  emblem  of 
repose  into  his  own  picture  of  that  peaceful,  prosaic  existence, 
and  of  the  ghastly  spiritual  conflict  to  which  it  had  served 
as  background.  He  employed  a  good  deal  of  perhaps 
strained  ingenuity  in  the  opening  pages  of  the  work,  in 
making  the  white  cap  foreshadow  the  red,  itself  the  symbol 
of  liberty,  and  only  indirectly  connected  with  tragic  events  ; 
and  he  would,  I  think,  have  emphasized  the  irony  of  circum- 
stance in  a  manner  more  characteristic  of  himself,  if  he  had 


1873]  ROBERT  BROWNING  287 

laid  his  stress  on  the  remoteness  from  "the  madding 
crowd,"  and  repeated  Miss  Thackeray's  title.  There  can, 
however,  be  no  doubt  that  his  poetic  imagination,  no  less 
than  his  human  insight,  was  amply  vindicated  by  his  treat- 
ment of  the  story. 

On  leaving  St.-Aubin  he  spent  a  month  at  Fontainebleau, 
in  a  house  situated  on  the  outskirts  of  the  forest ;  and  here 
his  principal  indoor  occupation  was  reading  the  Greek 
dramatists,  especially  j33schylus,  to  whom  he  had  returned 
with  revived  interest  and  curiosity.  Red  Cotton  Nightcap 
Country  was  not  begun  till  his  return  to  London  in  the 
later  autumn.  It  was  published  ia  the  early  summer  of 
1873. 


288  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

1873-1878 

London  Life — Love  of  Music — Miss  Egerton- Smith — Periodical 
Nervous  Exhaustion — Mers  ;  Aristophanes'  Apology — Aga- 
memnon—  The  Inn  Album — Pacchlarotto  and  other  Poems— 
Visits  to  Oxford  and  Cambridge — Letters  to  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald 
— St,  Andrews  ;  Letter  from  Professor  Knight— In  the 
Savoyard  Mountains  —  Death  of  Miss  Egerton-Smith  —  La 
Saisiaz ;  The  Two  Poets  of  Croisic — Selections  from  his  Works. 

The  period  on  which  we  have  now  entered,  covering 
roughly  the  ten  or  twelve  years  which  followed  the  publica- 
tion of  The  Ring  and  the  Booh,  was  the  fullest  in  Mr. 
Browning's  life  ;  it  was  that  in  which  the  varied  claims 
made  by  it  on  his  moral,  and  above  all  his  physical  energies, 
found  in  him  the  fullest  power  of  response.  He  could  rise 
early  and  go  to  bed  late — this,  however,  never  from  choice 
— and  occupy  every  hour  of  the  day  with  work  or  pleasure, 
in  a  manner  which  his  friends  recalled  regretfully  in  later 
years,  when  of  two  or  three  engagements  which  ought  to 
have  divided  his  afternoon,  a  single  one — perhaps  only  the 
most  formally  pressing — could  be  fulfilled.  Soon  after  his 
final  return  to  England,  while  he  still  lived  in  comparative 
seclusion,  certain  habits  of  friendly  intercom'se,  often  super- 
ficial, but  always  binding,  had  rooted  themselves  in  his  life. 
London  society,  as  I  have  also  implied,  opened  itself  to  him 


1873]  ROBERT  BROWNING  289 

in  ever-widening  circles,  or.  as  it  would  be  truer  to  say, 
drew  him  more  and  more  deeply  into  its  whirl ;  and  even 
before  the  mellowing  kindness  of  his  nature  had  infused 
warmth  into  the  least  substantial  of  his  social  relations,  the 
imaginative  curiosity  of  the  poet — for  a  while  the  natural 
ambition  of  the  man — found  satisfaction  in  it.  For  a  short 
time,  indeed,  he  entered  into  the  fashionable  routine  of 
country-house  visiting.  Besides  the  instances  I  have  already 
given,  and  many  others  which  I  may  have  forgotten,  he 
was  heard  of,  during  the  earlier  part  of  this  decade,  as  the 
guest  of  Lord  Carnarvon  at  Highclere  Castle,  of  Lord 
Shrewsbury  at  Alton  Towers,  of  Lord  Brownlow  and  his 
mother,  Lady  Marian  Alford,  at  Belton  and  Ashridge. 
Somewhat  later,  he  stayed  with  Mr.  and  Lady  Alice 
Gaisford  at  a  house  they  temporarily  occupied  on  the 
Sussex  downs  ;  with  Mr.  Cholmondeley  at  Condover,  and, 
much  more  recently,  at  Aynhoe  Park  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Cartwright.  Kind  and  pressing,  and  in  themselves  very 
tempting  invitations  of  this  nature  came  to  him  until  the 
end  of  his  life  ;  but  he  very  soon  made  a  practice  of 
declining  them,  because  their  acceptance  could  only  renew 
for  him  the  fatigues  of  the  London  season,  while  the  tanta- 
lizing beauty  and  repose  of  the  country  lay  before  his  eyes  ; 
but  such  visits,  while  they  continued,  were  one  of  the 
necessary  social  experiences  which  brought  their  grist  to 
his  mill. 

And  now,  in  addition  to  the  large  social  tribute  which 
he  received,  and  had  to  pay,  he  was  drinking  in  all  the 
enjoyment,  and  incurring  all  the  fatigue  which  the  London 
musical  world  could  create  for  him.  In  Italy  he  had  found 
the  natural  home  of  the  other  arts.     The  one  poem,  Old 

u 


290  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [i873 

Pictures  in  Florence,  is  sufficiently  eloquent  of  long  com- 
munion with  the  old  masters  and  their  works  ;  and  if  his 
history  in  Florence  and  Rome  had  been  written  in  his  own 
letters  instead  of  those  of  his  wife,  they  must  have  held 
many  reminiscences  of  galleries  and  studios,  and  of  the 
places  in  which  pictures  are  bought  and  sold.  But  his  love 
for  music  was  as  certainly  starved  as  the  delight  in  painting 
and  sculpture  was  nourished  ;  and  it  had  now  grown  into  a 
passion,  from  the  indulgence  of  which  he  derived,  as  he 
always  declared,  some  of  the  most  beneficent  influences  of 
his  life.  It  would  be  scarcely  an  exaggeration  to  say  that 
he  attended  every  important  concert  of  the  season,  whether 
isolated  or  given  in  a  course.  There  was  no  engagement 
possible  or  actual,  which  did  not  yield  to  the  discovery  of 
its  clashing  with  the  day  and  hour  fixed  for  one  of  these. 
His  frequent  companion  on  such  occasions  was  Miss  Egerton- 
Smith. 

Miss  Smith  became  only  known  to  Mr.  Browning's 
general  acquaintance  through  the  dedicatory  "  A.  E.  S."  of 
La  Saisiaz ;  but  she  was,  at  the  time  of  her  death,  one  of 
his  oldest  women  friends.  He  first  met  her  as  a  young 
woman  in  Florence  when  she  was  visiting  there ;  and  the 
love  for  and  proficiency  in  music  soon  asserted  itself  as  a 
bond  of  sympathy  between  them.  They  did  not,  however, 
see  much  of  each  other  tiU  he  had  finally  left  Italy,  and  she 
also  had  made  her  home  in  London.  She  there  led  a 
secluded  life,  although  free  from  family  ties,  and  enjoying 
a  large  income  derived  from  the  ownership  of  an  important 
provincial  paper.  Mr.  Browning  was  one  of  the  very  few 
persons  whose  society  she  cared  to  cultivate  ;  and  for  many 
years  the  common  musical  interest  took  the  practical,  and 


1873]  ROBERT  BROWNING  291 

for  both  of  them  convenient  form,  of  their  going  to  con- 
certs together.  After  her  death,  in  the  autumn  of  1877,  he 
almost  mechanically  renounced  all  the  musical  entertain- 
ments to  which  she  had  so  regularly  accompanied  him.  The 
special  motive  and  special  facility  were  gone — she  had  been 
wont  to  call  for  him  in  her  carriage  ;  the  habit  was  broken  ; 
there  would  have  been  first  pain,  and  afterwards  an  un- 
welcome exertion  in  renewiug  it.  Time  was  also  beginning 
to  sap  his  strength,  while  society,  and  perhaps  friendship, 
were  making  increasing  claims  upon  it.  It  may  have  been 
for  this  same  reason  that  music  after  a  time  seemed  to  pass 
out  of  his  life  altogether.  Yet  its  almost  sudden  eclipse 
was  striking  in  the  case  of  one  who  not  only  had  been  so 
deeply  susceptible  to  its  emotional  influences,  so  conversant 
with  its  scientific  construction  and  its  multitudinous  forms, 
but  who  was  acknowledged  as  "  musical  "  by  those  who  best 
knew  the  subtle  and  complex  meaning  of  that  often  misused 
term. 

Mr.  Browning  could  do  all  that  I  have  said  during  the 
period  through  which  we  are  now  following  him  ;  but  he 
could  not  quite  do  it  with  impunity.  Each  winter  brought 
its  searching  attack  of  cold  and  cough  ;  each  summer 
reduced  him  to  the  state  of  nervous  prostration  or  physical 
apathy  of  which  I  have  already  spoken,  and  which  at  once 
rendered  change  imperative,  and  the  exertion  of  seeking  it 
almost  intolerable.  His  health  and  spirits  rebounded  at 
the  first  draught  of  foreign  air ;  the  first  breath  from  an 
English  cliff  or  moor  might  have  had  the  same  result. 
But  the  remembrance  of  this  fact  never  nerved  him  to  the 
preliminary  effort.  The  conviction  renewed  itself  with 
the  close  of  every  season,  that  the  best  thing  which  could 


292  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1873- 

happen  to  him  would  be  to  be  left  quiet  at  home  ;  and 
his  disinclination  to  face  even  the  idea  of  moving  equally 
hampered  his  sister  in  her  endeavour  to  make  timely  arrange- 
ments for  their  change  of  abode. 

This  special  craving  for  rest  helped  to  limit  the  area 
from  which  their  summer  resort  could  be  chosen.  It 
precluded  all  idea  of  pension-life,  hence  of  any  much- 
frequented  Fpot  in  Switzerland  or  Germany.  It  was  tacitly 
understood  that  the  shortening  days  were  not  to  be  passed 
in  England.  Italy  did  not  yet  associate  itself  with  the 
possibilities  of  a  moderately  short  absence ;  the  resources 
of  the  northern  French  coast  were  becoming  exhausted  ; 
and  as  the  August  of  1874  approached,  the  question  of  how 
and  where  this  and  the  following  months  were  to  be  spent 
was,  perhaps,  more  than  ever  a  perplexing  one.  It  was 
now  Miss  Smith  who  became  the  means  of  its  solution. 
She  had  more  than  once  joined  Mr.  and  Miss  Browning  at 
the  sea-side.  She  was  anxious  this  year  to  do  so  again,  and 
she  suggested  for  their  meeting  a  quiet  spot  called  Mers, 
almost  adjoining  the  fashionable  Treport,  but  distinct  from 
it.  It  was  agreed  that  they  should  try  it ;  and  the  experi- 
ment, which  they  had  no  reason  to  regret,  opened  also  in 
some  degree  a  way  out  of  future  difficulties.  Mers  was 
young,  and  had  the  defect  of  its  quality.  Only  one 
desirable  house  was  to  be  found  there ;  and  the  plan  of 
joint  residence  became  converted  into  one  of  joint  house- 
keeping, in  which  Mr.  and  Miss  Browning  at  first  refused 
to  concur,  but  which  worked  so  well  that  it  was  renewed  in 
the  three  ensuing  summers :  Miss  Smith  retaining  the 
initiative  in  the  choice  of  place,  her  friends  the  right  of 
veto  upon  it.    They  stayed  again  together  in  1875  at 


1874]  ROBERT   BROWNING  293 

Villers,  on  the  coast  of  Normandy ;  in  1876  at  the  Isle 
of  Arran  ;  in  1877  at  a  house  called  La  Saisiaz— Savoyard 
for  the  sun — in  the  Saleve  district  near  Geneva. 

The  autumn  months  of  18 74  were  marked  for  Mr. 
Browning  by  an  important  piece  of  work  :  the  production 
of  Aristophams'  Apology.  It  was  far  advanced  when  he 
returned  to  London  in  November,  after  a  visit  to  Antwerp, 
where  his  son  was  studying  art  under  M.  Heyermans  ;  and 
its  much  later  appearance  must  have  been  intended  to  give 
breathing  time  to  the  readers  of  Red  Cotton  Nightcap 
Countnj.  Mr.  Browning  subsequently  admitted  that  he 
sometimes,  during  these  years,  allowed  active  literary 
occupation  to  interfere  too  much  with  the  good  which  his 
holiday  might  have  done  him ;  but  the  temptations  to 
literary  activity  were  this  time  too  great  to  be  withstood. 
The  house  occupied  by  him  at  Mers  (]\Iaison  Robert)  was 
the  last  of  the  straggling  village,  and  stood  on  a  rising  clifiF. 
In  front  was  the  open  sea  ;  beyond  it  a  long  stretch  of 
down  ;  everywhere  comparative  solitude.  Here,  in  uninter- 
rupted quiet,  and  in  a  room  devoted  to  his  use,  Mr. 
Browning  would  work  till  the  afternoon  was  advanced,  and 
then  set  forth  on  a  long  walk  over  the  cliffs,  often  in  the 
face  of  a  wind  which,  as  he  wrote  of  it  at  the  time,  he 
could  lean  against  as  if  it  were  a  wall.  And  during  this 
time  he  was  living,  not  only  in  his  work,  but  with  the  man 
who  had  inspired  it.  The  image  of  Aristophanes,  in  the 
half-shamed  insolence,  the  disordered  majesty,  in  which 
he  is  placed  before  the  reader's  mind,  was  present  to 
him  from  the  first  moment  in  which  the  Defence  was 
conceived.  What  was  still  more  interesting,  he  could  see 
him,  hear  him,  think  with  him,  speak  for  him,  and  still 


294  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1874^ 

inevitably  condemn  him.  No  such  instance  of  always 
ingenious,  and  sometimes  earnest,  pleading  foredoomed 
to  complete  discomfiture,  occurs  in  Mr.  Brownings 
works. 

To  Aristophanes  he  gave  the  dramatic  sympathy  which 
one  lover  of  life  can  extend  to  another,  though  that 
other  unduly  extol  its  lowest  forms.  To  Euripides  he 
brought  the  palm  of  the  bigher  truth,  to  his  work  the 
tribute  of  the  more  pathetic  human  emotion.  Even  these 
for  a  moment  ministered  to  the  greatness  of  Aristophanes, 
in  the  tear  shed  by  him  to  the  memory  of  his  rival,  in 
the  hour  of  his  own  triumph  ;  and  we  may  be  quite  sure 
that  when  Mr.  Browning  depicted  that  scene,  and  again 
when  he  translated  the  great  tragedian's  words,  his  own 
eyes  were  dimmed.  Large  tears  fell  from  them,  and 
emotion  choked  his  voice,  when  he  first  read  aloud  the 
transcript  of  the  HeraMes  to  a  friend,  who  was  often 
privileged  to  hear  him. 

Mr.  Browning's  deep  feeling  for  the  humanities  of 
Greek  literature,  and  his  almost  passionate  love  for  the 
language,  contrasted  strongly  with  his  refusal  to  regard 
even  the  first  of  Greek  writers  as  models  of  literary  style. 
The  pretensions  raised  for  them  on  this  ground  were 
inconceivable  to  him  ;  and  his  translation  of  the  Agamem- 
non, published  in  1877,  was  partly  made,  I  am  convinced, 
for  the  pleasure  of  exposing  these  claims,  and  of  rebuking 
them.  His  preface  to  the  transcript  gives  evidence  of  this. 
The  glee  with  which  he  pointed  to  it  when  it  first  appeared 
was  no  less  significant. 

At  Villers,  in  1875,  he  only  corrected  the  proofs  of  Th» 
Inn  Album  for  publication  in  November.    When  the  party 


18771  ROBERT  BROWNING  295 

started  for  the  Isle  of  Arran,  in  the  autumn  of  1876,  the 
Pacchiarotto  volume  had  already  appeared.^ 

When  Mr.  Browning  discontinued  his  short-lived  habit 
of  visiting  away  from  home,  he  made  an  exception  in 
favour  of  the  Universities.  His  occasional  visits  to  Oxford 
and  Cambridge  were  maintained  till  the  very  end  of  his  Hfe, 
with  increasing  frequency  in  the  former  case  ;  and  the  days 
spent  at  Balliol  and  Trinity  afforded  him  as  unmixed  a 
pleasure  as  was  compatible  with  the  interruption  of  his 
daily  habits,  and  with  a  system  of  hospitality  which  would 
detain  him  for  many  hours  at  table.  A  vivid  picture  of 
them  is  given  in  two  letters,  dated  January  20  and 
March  10,  1877,  and  addi-essed  to  one  of  his  constant 
correspondents,  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald,  of  Shalstone  Manor, 
Buckingham. 

Dear  Friend,  I  have  your  letter  of  yesterday,  and  thank 
you  all  I  can  for  its  goodness  and  graciousness  to  me 
unworthy  ...  I  returned  on  Thursday — the  hospitality  of 
our  Master  being  not  easy  to  set  aside.  But  to  begin  with 
the  beginning:  the  passage  from  London  to  Oxfurd  was 
exceptionally  prosperous — the  train  was  full  of  men  my 
friends.  I  was  welcomed  on  arriving  by  a  Fellow  who 
installed  me  in  my  rooms, — then  came  the  pleasant  meeting 
with  Jowett  who  at  once  took  me  to  tea  with  his  other 
guests,  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  Bishop  of  London, 

•  [In  a  biography  of  Browning  this  volume  deserves  some  special 
notice,  on  account  of  the  unusual  directness  of  its  expressions  of 
personal  opinion,  as  in  the  somewhat  petulant  (but  very  natural) 
explosion  against  his  critics  in  Pacchiarotto,  and  the  utterances  on 
the  subject  of  a  poet's  self-revelation  in  his  works  in  House.  It  i3 
also  worth  recalling  that  Browning  subsequently  (in  a  letter  to  Mr. 
Gosse)  selected  A  Forgiveness  as  a  representative  example  of  his 
narrative  poetry.] 


296  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1877 

Dean  of  "Westminster,  the  Airlies,  Cardwells,  male  and 
female.  Then  came  the  banquet  ^ — (I  enclose  you  the  plan, 
having  no  doubt  that  you  will  recognise  the  name  of  many 
an  acquaintance  :  please  return  it) — and,  the  dinner  done, 
Bpeechifying  set  in  vigorously.  The  Archbishop  proposed 
the  standing  '■'■  Floreat  domus  de  Balliolo" — to  which  the 
Master  made  due  and  amusing  answer,  himself  giving  the 
health  of  the  Primate.  Lord  Coleridge,  in  a  silvery  speech, 
drank  to  the  University,  responded  to  by  the  Vice-Chancellor. 
I  forget  who  proposed  the  visitors — -the  Bishop  of  London, 
perhaps  Lord  Cardwell.  Professor  Smith  gave  the  two 
Houses  of  Parliament, — Jowett,  the  Clergy,  coupling  with 
it  the  name  of  your  friend  Mr.  Rogers — on  whom  he 
showered  every  kind  of  praise,  and  Mr.  Rogers  returned 
thanks  very  characteristically  and  pleasantly.  Lord  Lans- 
downe  drank  to  the  Bar  (JSlr.  Bowen),  Lord  Camperdown 
to — I  really  forget  what :  Mr.  Green  to  Literature  and 
Science,  delivering  a  most  undeserved  eulogium  on  myself, 
with  a  more  rightly  directed  one  on  Arnold,  Swinburne, 
and  the  old  pride  of  Balliol,  Clough  :  this  was  cleverly  and 
almost  touchingly  answered  by  dear  Mat  Arnold.  Then 
the  Dean  of  Westminster  gave  the  Fellows  and  Scholars — 
and  then — twelve  o'clock  struck.  "We  were,  counting  from 
the  time  of  preliminary  assemblage,  six  hours  and  a  half 
engaged :  fuUi/  five  and  a  half  nailed  to  our  chairs  at  the 
table  :  but  the  whole  thing  was  brilliant,  genial,  and  sug- 
gestive of  many  and  various  thoughts  to  me — and  there 
was  a  warmth,  earnestness,  and  yet  refinement  about  it 
which  I  never  experienced  in  any  previous  public  dinner. 
Next  morning  I  breakfasted  with  Jowett  and  his  guests, 
found  that  return  would  be  difficult :  while  as  the  young 
men  were  to  return  on  Friday  there  would  be  no  opposition 
to  my  departure  on  Thursday.  The  morning  was  dismal 
'  [The  occasion  was  the  opening  of  the  new  hall  of  Balliol  College.] 


18771  ROBERT   BROWNING  297 

with  rain,  but  after  luncheon  there  was  a  chance  of  getting 
a  httle  air,  and  I  walked  for  more  than  two  hours, 
then  heard  service  in  New  Coll. — then  dinner  again :  my, 
room  had  been  prepared  in  the  Master's  house.  So,  on 
Thursday,  after  yet  another  breakfast,  I  left  by  the  noon- 
day train,  after  all  sorts  of  kindly  offices  from  the  Master. 
...  No  reporters  were  suffered  to  be  present — the  account 
in  yesterday's  Times  was  furnished  by  one  or  more  of  the 
guests  ;  it  is  quite  correct  as  far  as  it  goes.  There  were, 
I  find,  certain  little  paragraphs  which  must  have  been 
furnished  by  "  guessers  "  :  Swinburne,  set  down  as  present 
— was  absent  through  his  Father's  illness  :  the  Cardinal  also 
excused  himself  as  did  the  Bishop  of  Salisbury  and  others. .  . . 

Ever  yours, 

R.  Beowninq. 

The  second  letter,   from   Cambridge,   was    short    and 

written    in    haste,   at    the    moment    of    Mr.  Browning's 

departure  ;  but  it  tells  the  same  tale  of  general  kindness 

and  attention.     Engagements  for  no  less  than  six  meals 

had  absorbed  the  first  day  of  the  visit.     The  occasion  was 

that  of  Professor  Joachim's  investiture  with  his  Doctor's 

degree  ;  and  Mr.  Browning  declares  that  this  ceremony,  the 

concert  given  by  the  great  violinist,  and  his  society,  were 

"  each   and  all "  worth  the  trouble  of  the  journey.     He 

himself  was  to  receive  the  Cambridge  degree  of  LL.D.  in 

1879,  the  Oxford  D.C.L.  in  1882.     A  passage  in  another 

letter,  addressed  to  the  same  friend,  refers  probably  to  a 

practical   reminiscence   of  Red  Cotton   Nightcap   Country, 

which  enlivened  the  latter  experience,  and  which  Mrs.  Fitz- 

Gerald  had  witnessed  with  disapprobation.^ 

'  An  actual  red  cotton  nightcap  had  been  made  to  flutter  down 
on  to  the  Poet's  head. 


298  LIFE  AND  LETTERS   OF  [i877 

.  .  .  You  are  far  too  hard  on  the  very  harmless  drolleries 
of  the  young  men,  licensed  as  they  are  moreover  by  im- 
memorial usage.  Indeed  there  used  to  be  a  regularly 
appointed  jester,  Filius  Terrce,  he  was  called,  whose  business 
it  was  to  jibe  and  jeer  at  the  honoured  ones,  by  way  of 
reminder  that  all  human  glories  are  merely  gilded  bubbles 
and  must  not  be  fancied  metal.  You  saw  that  the  Reverend 
Dons  escaped  no  more  than  the  poor  Poet — or  rather  I 
should  say  than  myself  the  poor  Poet — for  I  was  pleased 
to  observe  with  what  attention  they  listened  to  the 
Newdigate.  .  .  . 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

R.  Beowning. 

In  1875  he  was  unanimously  nominated,  by  its  Inde- 
pendent Club,  to  the  oflBce  of  Lord  Rector  of  the  University 
of  Glasgow  ;  and  in  1877  he  again  received  the  offer  of  the 
Rectorship  of  St.  Andrews,  couched  in  very  urgent  and 
flattering  terms.  A  letter  addressed  to  him  from  this 
University  by  Dr.  William  Knight,  Professor  of  Moral 
Philosophy  there,  which  I  have  his  permission  to  publish, 
bears  witness  to  what  had  long  been  and  was  always  to 
remain  a  prominent  fact  of  Mr.  Browning's  literary  career : 
his  great  influence  on  the  minds  of  the  rising  generation  of 
his  countrymen. 

The  University,  St.  Andrews  N.B. :  Nov.  17, 1877. 

My  dear  Sir, —  .  .  .  The  students  of  this  University,  in 
which  I  have  the  honour  to  hold  office,  have  nominated  you 
as  their  Lord  Rector ;  and  intend  unanimously,  I  am  told, 
to  elect  you  to  that  office  on  Thursday. 

I  believe  that  hitherto  no  Rector  has  been  chosen  by 
the  undivided  suffrage  of  any  Scottish  University.     They 


J877I  ROBERT  BROW^^ING  299 

'  have  heard  however  that  you  are  unable  to  accept  the  oflBce  : 
i  and  your  committee,  who  were  deeply  disappointed  to  learn 
this  afternoon  of  the  way  in  which  you  have  been  informed 
of  their  intentions,  are,  I  believe,  writing  to  you  on  the 
subject.  So  keen  is  their  regret  that  they  intend  respect- 
fully to  wait  upon  you  on  Tuesday  morning  by  deputation, 
and  ask  if  you  cannot  waive  your  difficulties  in  deference  to 
their  enthusiasm,  and  allow  them  to  proceed  with  your 
election. 

Their  suffrage  may,  I  think,  be  regarded  as  one  sign  of 
how  the  thong'itfiil  youth  of  Scotland  estimate  the  work 
you  have  done  in  the  world  of  letters. 

And  permit  me  to  say  that  while  these  Rectorial  elections 
in  the  other  Universities  have  frequently  turned  on  local 
questions,  or  been  inspired  by  political  partisanship,  St. 
Andrews  has  honourably  sought  to  choose  men  distinguished 
for  literary  eminence,  and  to  make  the  Rectorship  a  tribute 
at  once  of  intellectual  and  moral  esteem. 

May  I  add  that  when  the  'perfervidum  ingenium  of  oui* 
northern  race  takes  the  form  not  of  youthful  hero-worship, 
but  of  loyal  admiration  and  respectful  homage,  it  is  a  very 
genuine  affair.  In  the  present  instance  I  may  say  it  is  no 
mere  outburst  of  young  undisciplined  enthusiasm,  but  an 
honest  expression  of  intellectual  and  moral  indebtedness, 
the  genuine  and  distinct  tribute  of  many  minds  that  have 
been  touched  to  some  higher  issues  by  what  you  have  taught 
them.  They  do  not  presume  to  speak  of  your  place  in 
English  literature.  They  merely  tell  you  by  this  proffered 
honour  (the  highest  in  their  power  to  bestow),  how  they 
have  felt  your  influence  over  them. 

My  own  obligations  to  you,  and  to  the  author  of  Aurora 
Leigh,  are  such,  that  of  them  "  silence  is  golden."  Yours 
ever  gratefully, 

William  Knight. 


300  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1877 

Mr.  Browning  was  deeply  touched  and  gratified  by 
these  professions  of  esteem.  He  persisted  nevertheless  in 
his  refusal.  The  Glasgow  nomination  had  also  beea 
declined  by  him. 

On  August  17,  1877,  he  wrote  to  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald  from 
La  Saisiaz  : 

"  How  lovely  is  this  place  in  its  solitude  and  seclusion, 
with  its  trees  and  shrubs  and  flowers,  and  above  all  its  live 
mountain  stream  which  supplies  three  fountains,  and  two 
delightful  baths,  a  marvel  of  delicate  delight  framed  in  with 
trees — I  bathe  there  twice  a  day — and  then  what  wonderful 
views  from  the  chalet  on  every  side  !  Geneva  lying  under  us, 
with  the  lake  and  the  whole  plain  bounded  by  the  Jura  and 
our  own  Saleve,  which  latter  seems  rather  close  behind  our 
house,  and  yet  takes  a  hard  hour  and  a  half  to  ascend — all 
this  you  can  imagine  since  you  know  the  environs  of  the 
town  ;  the  peace  and  quiet  move  me  the  most — And  I  fancy 
I  shall  drowse  out  the  two  months  or  more,  doing  no  more  of 
serious  work  than  reading — and  that  is  virtuous  renuncia- 
tion of  the  glorious  view  to  my  right  here — as  I  sit  aerially 
like  Euripides,  and  see  the  clouds  come  and  go  and  the 
view  change  in  correspondence  with  them.  It  will  help  me 
to  get  rid  of  the  pain  which  attaches  itself  to  the  recolleo" 
tions  of  Lucerne  and  Berne  '  in  the  old  days  when  the 
Greeks  suffered  so  much,'  as  Homer  says.  But  a  very  real 
and  sharp  pain  touched  me  here  when  I  heard  of  the  death 
of  poor  Virginia  Marsh  whom  I  knew  particularly,  and 
parted  with  hardly  a  fortnight  ago,  leaving  her  affectionate 
and  happy  as  ever.  The  tones  of  her  voice  as  on  one 
memorable  occasion  she  ejaculated  repeatedly  Good  friend  / 
are  fresh  still.     Poor  Virginia  I  .  ,  . " 

Mr.  Browning  was  more  than  quiescent  during  this  stay 


1877]  ROBERT   BROWNING  301 

in  the  Savoyard  mountains.  He  was  unusually  depressed, 
and  unusually  disposed  to  regard  the  absence  from  home  as 
a  banishment ;  and  he  tried  subsequently  to  account  for 
this  condition  by  the  shadow  which  coming  trouble  some- 
times casts  before  it.  It  was  more  probably  due  to  the  want 
of  the  sea  air  which  he  had  enjoyed  for  so  many  years,  and 
to  that  special  oppressive  heat  of  the  Swiss  valleys  which 
ascends  with  them  to  almost  their  highest  level.  "When  he 
said  that  the  Saleve  seemed  close  behind  the  house,  he  was 
saying  in  other  words  that  the  sun  beat  back  from,  and  the 
air  was  intercepted  by  it.  "We  see,  nevertheless,  in  his  des- 
cription of  the  surrounding  scenery,  a  promise  of  the  con- 
templative delight  in  natural  beauty  to  be  henceforth  so 
conspicuous  in  his  experience,  and  which  seemed  a  new 
feature  in  it.  He  had  hitherto  approached  every  living 
thing  with  curious  and  sympathetic  observation  —  this 
hardly  requires  saying  of  one  who  had  animals  for  his  first 
and  always  familiar  friends.  Flowers  also  attracted  him  by 
their  perfume.  But  what  he  loved  in  nature  was  essentially 
its  prefiguring  of  human  existence,  or  its  echo  of  it ;  and  it 
never  appeared,  in  either  his  works  or  his  conversation, 
that  he  was  much  impressed  by  its  inanimate  forms — by 
even  those  larger  phenomena  of  mountain  and  cloud-land 
on  which  the  letter  dwells.  Such  beauty  as  most  appealed 
to  him  he  had  left  behind  with  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  his 
Italian  life,  and  it  had  almost  inevitably  passed  out  of  his 
consideration.  During  years  of  his  residence  in  London  he 
never  thought  of  the  country  as  a  source  of  pleasurable 
emotions,  other  than  those  contingent  on  renewed  health  ; 
and  the  places  to  which  he  resorted  had  often  not  much 
beyond  their  health-giving  qualities  to  recommend  them ; 


502       ^       LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1877 

his  appetite  for  the  beautiful  had  probably  dwindled  for 
lack  of  food.  But  when  a  friend  once  said  to  him :  "  You 
have  not  a  great  love  for  nature,  have  you  ?  "  he  had 
replied  :  "  Yes,  I  have,  but  I  love  men  and  women  better  ;  *' 
and  the  admission,  which  conveyed  more  than  it  literally 
expressed,  would  have  been  true,  I  believe,  at  any,  up  to  the 
present,  period  of  his  history.  Even  now  he  did  not  cease 
to  love  men  and  women  best ;  but  he  found  increasing 
enjoyment  in  the  beauties  of  nature,  above  all  as  they 
opened  upon  him  on  the  southern  slopes  of  the  Alps  ;  and 
the  dehght  of  the  assthetic  sense  merged  gradually  in  the 
satisfied  craving  for  pure  air  and  brilliant  sunshine  which 
marked  his  final  struggle  for  physical  life.  A  ring  of 
enthusiasm  comes  into  his  letters  from  the  mountains,  and 
deepens  as  the  years  advance  ;  doubtless  enhanced  by  the 
great — perhaps  too  great — exhilaration  which  the  Alpine 
atmosphere  produced,  but  also  in  large  measure  independent 
of  it.  Each  new  place  into  which  the  summer  carries  him 
he  declares  more  beautiful  than  the  last.    It  possibly  was  so. 

A  touch  of  autumnal  freshness  had  barely  crept  into 
the  atmosphere  of  the  Saleve,  when  a  moral  thunderbolt  fell 
on  the  little  group  of  persons  domiciled  at  its  base  :  Miss 
Egerton-Smith  died,  in  what  had  seemed  for  her  unusually 
good  health,  in  the  act  of  preparing  for  a  mountain 
excursion  with  her  friends — the  words  still  almost  on  her 
lips  in  which  she  had  given  some  directions  for  their 
comfort.  Mr.  Browning's  impressionable  nervous  system 
was  for  a  moment  paralyzed  by  the  shock.  It  revived  in 
all  the  emotional  and  intellectual  impulses  which  gave 
birth  to  La  Saisiaz. 

This  poem  contains,  besides  its  personal  reference  and 


1877]  ROBERT   BROWNING  303 

association,  elements  of  distinctive  biographical  interest. 
^  It  is  the  author's  first — as  also  last — attempt  to  reconstruct 
his  hope  of  immortality  by  a  rational  process  based  entirely 
on  the  fundamental  facts  of  his  own  knowledge  and 
consciousness — God  and  the  human  soul ;  and  while  the 
very  assumption  of  these  facts,  as  basis  for  reasoning, 
places  him  at  issue  with  scientific  thought,  there  is  in 
his  way  of  handling  them  a  tribute  to  the  scientific  spirit, 
perhaps  foreshadowed  in  the  beautiful  epilogue  to  Dramatis 
Persono&,  but  of  which  there  is  no  trace  in  his  earlier 
religious  works.  It  is  conclusive  both  in  form  and  matter 
as  to  his  heterodox  attitude  towards  Christianity.  He 
was  no  less,  in  his  way,  a  Christian  when  he  wrote  La 
Saisiaz  than  when  he  published  A  Death  in  the  Desert 
and  Christmas  Eve  and  Easter  Day ;  or  at  any  period 
subsequent  to  that  in  which  he  accepted  without  ques- 
tioning what  he  had  learned  at  his  mother's  knee.  He 
has  repeatedly  written  or  declared  in  the  words  of 
Charles  Lamb  : ^  "If  Christ  entered  the  room  I  should 
fall  on  my  knees  ; "  and  again,  in  those  of  Napoleon : 
"  I  am  an  understander  of  men,  and  He  was  no  man." 
He  has  even  added :  "  If  he  had  been,  he  would  have 
been  an  impostor."  But  the  arguments,  in  great  part 
negative,  set  forth  in  La  Saisiaz  for  the  immortality  of  the 
soul,  leave  no  place  for  the  idea,  however  indefinite,  of 
a  Christian  revelation  on  the  subject.^    Christ  remained 

*  These  words  have  more  significance  when  taken  with  their  con- 
text. "  If  Shakespeare  was  to  come  into  the  room,  we  should  all 
rise  up  to  meet  him ;  but  if  that  Person  [meaning  Christ]  was  to 
come  into  the  room,  we  should  all  fall  down  and  try  to  kiss  the  hem 
of  his  garment." 

*  [It  would  be  truer  to  say  that  Browning  deUberately  left  on  one 


304  LIFE  AND   LETTERS   OF  [1877- 

for  Mr.  Browning  a  mystery  and  a  message  of  Divine 
Love,  but  no  messenger  of  Divine  intention  towards 
mankind. 

The  dialogue  between  Fancy  and  Reason  is  not  only 
an  admission  of  uncertainty  as  to  the  future  of  the  Soul :  it 
is  a  plea  for  it ;  and  as  such  it  gathers  up  into  its  few 
words  of  direct  statement,  threads  of  reasoning  which  have 
been  traceable  throughout  Mr.  Browning's  work.  In  this 
plea  for  uncertainty  lies  also  a  full  and  frank  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  value  of  the  earthly  life ;  and  as  interpreted  by 
his  general  views,  that  value  asserts  itself,  not  only  in  the 
means  of  probation  which  life  affords,  but  in  its  existing 
conditions  of  happiness.  No  one,  he  declares,  possessing 
the  certainty  of  a  future  state  would  patiently  and  fully 
live  out  the  present ;  and  since  the  future  can  be  only  the 
ripened  fruit  of  the  present,  its  promise  would  be  neutral- 
ized, as  well  as  actual  experience  dwarfed,  by  a  definite 
revelation.  Nor,  conversely,  need  the  want  of  a  certified 
future  depress  the  present  spiritual  and  moral  life.  It  is 
in  the  nature  of  the  Soul  that  it  would  suffer  from  the 
promise.  The  existence  of  God  is  a  justification  for  hope. 
And  since  the  certainty  would  be  injurious  to  the  Soul, 
hence  destructive  to  itself,  the  doubt — in  other  words,  the 
hope — becomes  a  sufficient  approach  to,  a  working  sub- 
stitute for  it.  It  is  pathetic  to  see  how,  in  spite  of  the 
convictions  thus    rooted    in  Mr.   Browning's    mind,   the 

side  the  question  of  the  authority  of  the  Christian  revelation,  in 
order  to  rest  the  argiiment  for  immortality  on  a  basis  which  might 
be  accepted  by  all,  whether  Christians  or  not.  Many  Christian 
writers  have  done  the  same ;  and  the  poem  in  itself  afiords  no  argu- 
ment, one  way  or  the  other,  as  to  Browning's  attitude  toward! 
Christianity.] 


1878]  ROBERT  BROWNING  305 

expressed  craving  for  more  knowledge,  for  more  light,  will 
now  and  then  escape  him. 

Even  orthodox  Christianity  gives  no  assurance  of 
reunion  to  those  whom  death  has  separated.  It  is  obvious 
that  Mr.  Browning's  poetic  creed  could  hold  no  conviction 
regarding  it.  He  hoped  for  such  reunion  in  proportion  as 
he  wished.  There  must  have  been  moments  in  his  life 
when  the  wish  in  its  passion  overleapt  the  bounds  of  hope. 
Prospice  appears  to  prove  this.  But  the  wide  range  of 
imagination,  no  less  than  the  lack  of  knowledge,  forbade  in 
him  any  forecast  of  the  possibilities  of  the  life  to  come. 
He  believed  that,  if  granted,  it  would  be  an  advancs  on  the 
present — an  accession  of  knowledge  if  not  an  increase  of 
happiness.  He  was  satisfied  that  whatever  it  gave,  and 
whatever  it  withheld,  it  would  be  good.  In  his  normal 
condition  this  sufficed  to  him. 

La  Saisiaz  appeared  in  the  early  summer  of  .1878,  and 
with  it  The  Two  Poets  of  Croisic,  which  had  been  written 
immediately  after  it.  The  various  incidents  of  this  poem 
are  strictly  historical ;  they  lead  the  way  to  a  characteristic 
utterance  of  Mr.  Browning's  philosophy  of  life  to  which  I 
shall  recur  later. 

In  1872  Mr.  Browning  had  published  a  first  series  of 
selections  from  his  works ;  it  was  to  be  followed  by  a 
second  in  1880.  In  a  preface  to  the  earlier  volume,  he 
indicates  the  plan  which  he  has  followed  in  the  choice 
and  arrangement  of  poems  ;  and  some  such  intention  runs 
also  through  the  second  ;  since  he  declined  a  suggestion 
made  to  him  for  the  introduction  or  placing  of  a  special 
poem,  on  the  ground  of  its  not  conforming  to  the  end  he 
had  in  view.     It  is  difficult,  in  the  one  case  as  in  the  other. 


306  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1878 

to  reconstruct  the  imagined  personality  to  which  his 
preface  refers  ;  and  his  words  on  the  later  occasion  pointed 
rather  to  that  idea  of  a  chord  of  feeling  which  is  raised  by 
the  correspondence  of  the  first  and  last  poems  of  the 
respective  groups.  But  either  clue  may  be  followed  with 
iuteresi. 


ROBERT  BROWNING  807 


CHAPTER  XIX 

1878-1884 

He  revisits  Italy;  A  solo  ;  Letters  to  Mrs,  Fitz-Gerald — Venice — 
Favourite  Alpine  Retreats — Mrs.  Arthur  Bronson — Life  ia 
Venice — A  Tragedy  at  Saint-Pierre — Mr.  Cholmondeley — Mr. 
Browning's  Patriotic  Feeling ;  Extract  from  Letter  to  Mrs. 
Charles  Skirrow — Dramatic  Idyls  —  Jocoseria — Ferishtah's 
Fancies — Relative  popularity  of  the  poetry  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Browning. 

The  catastrophe  of  La  Saisiaz  closed  a  comprehensive 
chapter  in  Mr.  Browning's  habits  and  experience.  It 
impelled  him  finally  to  break  with  the  associations  of  the 
last  seventeen  autumns,  which  he  remembered  more  in  their 
tedious  or  painful  circumstances  than  in  the  unexciting 
pleasure  and  renewed  physical  health  which  he  had  derived 
from  them.  He  was  weary  of  the  ever-recurring  effort  to 
uproot  himself  from  his  home  life,  only  to  become  stationary 
in  some  more  or  less  uninteresting  northern  spot.  The 
always  latent  desire  for  Italy  sprang  up  in  him,  and  with  it 
the  often  present  thought  and  wish  to  give  his  sister  the 
opportunity  of  seeing  it. 

Florence  and  Rome  were  not  included  in  his  scheme ; 
he  knew  them  both  too  well  ;  but  he  hankered  for  Asolo 
and  Venice.  He  determined,  though  as  usual  reluctantly, 
and  not  till  the  last  moment,  that  they  should  move  south- 
wards in  the  August  of  1878.     Their  route  lay  over  the 


308  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1878 

Spliigen ;  and  having  heard  of  a  comfortable  hotel  near  the 
summit  of  the  Pass,  they  agreed  to  remain  there  till  the  heat 
had  sufficiently  abated  to  allow  of  the  descent  into  Lombardy. 
The  advantages  of  this  first  arrangement  exceeded  their 
expectations.  It  gave  them  solitude  without  the  sense  of 
loneliness.  A  little  stream  of  travellers  passed  constantly 
over  the  mountain,  and  they  could  shake  hands  with 
acquaintances  at  night,  and  know  them  gone  in  the  morn- 
ing. They  dined  at  the  table  d'hute,  but  took  all  other 
meals  alone,  and  slept  in  a  detached  wing  or  dependance  of 
the  hotel.  Their  daily  walks  sometimes  carried  them  down 
to  the  Via  Mala  ;  often  to  the  top  of  the  ascent,  where  they 
could  rest,  looking  down  into  Italy  ;  and  would  even  be 
prolonged  over  a  period  of  five  hours  and  an  extent  of 
seventeen  miles.  Now,  as  always,  the  mountain  air  stimu- 
lated Mr.  Browning's  physical  energy  ;  and  on  this  occasiou 
it  also  especially  quickened  his  imaginative  powers.  He 
was  preparing  the  first  series  of  Dramatic  Idyls ;  and 
several  of  these,  including  Ivan  Ivdnovitch,  were  produced 
with  such  rapidity  that  Miss  Browniag  refused  to  counte- 
nance a  prolonged  stay  on  the  mountain,  unless  he  worked 
at  a  more  reasonable  rate. 

They  did  not  linger  on  their  way  to  Asolo  and  Venice, 
except  for  a  night's  rest  on  the  Lake  of  Como  and  two  days 
at  Verona.  In  their  successive  journeys  through  Northern 
Italy  they  visited  by  degrees  all  its  notable  cities,  and  it 
would  be  easy  .to  recall,  in  order  and  detail,  most  of  these 
yearly  expeditions.  But  the  account  of  them  would  chiefly 
resolve  itself  into  a  list  of  names  and  dates  ;  for  Mr. 
Browning  had  seldom  a  new  impression  to  receive,  even 
from  localities  which  he  had  not  seen  before.    I  know  that 


1878]  ROBERT   BROWNING  309 

he  and  his  sister  were  deeply  struck  by  the  deserted  grandeurs 
of  Ravenna  ;  and  that  it  stirred  in  both  of  them  a  memor- 
able sensation  to  wander  as  they  did  for  a  whole  day 
through  the  pine-woods  consecrated  by  Dante.  I  am  never- 
theless not  sure  that  when  they  performed  the  repeated 
round  of  picture-galleries  and  palaces,  they  were  not  some- 
times simply  paying  their  debt  to  opportunity,  and  as  much 
for  each  other's  sake  as  for  their  own.  "Where  all  was  Italy, 
there  was  little  to  gain  or  lose  in  one  memorial  of  greatness, 
one  object  of  beauty,  visited  or  left  unseen.  But  in  Asolo, 
even  in  Venice,  Mr.  Browning  was  seeking  something  more  : 
the  remembrance  of  his  own  actual  and  poetic  youth.  How 
far  he  found  it  in  the  former  place  we  may  infer  from  a 
letter  to  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald. 

Sept.  28,  1878. 
And  from  Asolo,  at  last,  dear  friend  1  So  can  dreams 
come  false. — S.,  who  has  been  writing  at  the  opposite  side 
of  the  table,  has  told  you  about  our  journey  and  adventures, 
such  as  they  were  :  but  she  cannot  tell  you  the  feelings 
with  which  I  revisit  this — to  me — memorable  place  after 
above  forty  years'  absence, — such  things  have  begun  and 
ended  with  me  in  the  interval !  It  was  too  strange  when  we 
reached  the  ruined  tower  on  the  hill-top  yesterday,  and 
I  said,  "  Let  me  try  if  the  echo  still  exists  which  I  discovered 
here,"  (you  can  produce  it  from  only  one  particular  spot  on 
a  remainder  of  brickwork — )  and  thereupon  it  answered  me 
plainly  as  ever,  after  all  the  silence  :  for  some  children  from 
the  adjoining  podere,  happening  to  be  outside,  heard  my 
voice  and  its  result — and  began  trying  to  perform  the  feat 
— calHng  "  Yes,  yes  " — all  in  vain :  so,  perhaps,  the  mighty 
secret  will  die  with  me  !  "We  shall  probably  stay  here  a  day 
or  tffo  longer, — the  air  is  so  pure,  the  country  so  attractive : 


310  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1878 

but  we  must  go  soon  to  Venice,  stay  our  allotted  time  there, 
and  then  go  homeward :  you  will  of  course  address  letters  to 
Venice,  not  this  place  :  it  is  a  pleasure  I  promise  myself 
that  on  arriving  I  shall  certainly  hear  you  speak  in  a  letter 
which  I  count  upon  finding. 

The  old  inn  here,  to  which  I  would  fain  have  betaken 
myself,  is  gone — levelled  to  the  ground  :  I  remember  it  was 
much  damaged  by  a  recent  earthquake,  and  the  cracks  and 
chasms  may  have  threatened  a  downfall.  This  Stella  d'Oro 
is,  however,  much  such  an  unperverted  locanda  as  its  pre- 
decessor— primitive  indeed  are  the  arrangements  and  un- 
sophisticate  the  ways :  but  there  is  cleanliness,  abundance 
of  goodwill,  and  the  sweet  Itahan  smile  at  every  mistake  : 
we  get  on  excellently.  To  be  sure  never  was  such  a  perfect 
fellow-traveller,  for  my  purposes,  as  S.,  so  that  I  have  no 
subject  of  concern — if  things  suit  me  they  suit  her — and 
vice-versa.  I  daresay  she  will  have  told  you  how  we 
trudged  together,  this  morning,  to  Possagno — through  a 
lovely  country  :  how  we  saw  all  the  wonders — and  a  wonder 
of  detestability  is  the  paint-performance  of  the  great  man  ! 
— and  how,  on  our  return,  we  found  the  little  town  enjoying 
high  market  day,  and  its  privilege  of  roaring  and  screaming 
over  a  bargain.  It  confuses  me  altogether, — but  at  Venice 
I  may  write  more  comfortably.  You  will  till  then,  Dear 
Friend,  remember  me  ever  as  yours  affectionately, 

Egbert  Beowning. 

If  the  tone  of  this  does  not  express  disappointment,  it 
has  none  of  the  rapture  which  his  last  visit  was  to  inspire. 
The  charm  which  forty  years  of  remembrance  had  cast 
around  the  little  city  on  the  hill  was  dispelled  for,  at  all 
events,  the  time  being.  The  hot  weather  and  dust-covered 
andscape,  with  the  more  than  primitive  accommodation  of 


1878]  ROBERT   BROWNING  311 

which  he  spoke  in  a  letter  to  another  friend,  may  have 
contributed  something  to  the  result. 

At  Venice  the  travellers  fared  better  in  some  essential 
respects.  A  London  acquaintance,  who  passed  them  on 
their  way  to  Italy,  had  recommended  a  cool  and  quiet  hotel 
there,  the  Albergo  dell'  Universo,  The  house,  Palazzo 
Brandolin-Rota,  was  situated  on  the  shady  side  of  the 
Grand  Canal,  just  below  the  Accademia  and  the  Suspension 
Bridge.  The  open  stretches  of  the  Giudecca  lay  not  far 
behind  ;  and  a  scrap  of  garden  and  a  clean  and  open  little 
street  made  pleasant  the  approach  from  back  and  side.  It 
accommodated  few  persons  in  proportion  to  its  size,  and 
fewer  still  took  up  their  abode  there  ;  for  it  was  managed 
by  a  lady  of  good  birth  and  fallen  fortunes  whose  home 
and  partimony  it  had  been ;  and  her  husband,  a  retired 
Austrian  officer,  and  two  grown-up  daughters  did  not  lighten 
her  task.  Every  year  the  fortunes  sank  lower  ;  the  upper 
storey  of  the  house  was  already  falling  into  decay,  and  the 
fine  old  furniture  passing  into  the  brokers'  or  private 
buyers'  hands.  It  still,  however,  afforded  sufficiently  com- 
fortable, and,  by  reason  of  its  very  drawbacks,  desirable 
quarters  to  Mr.  Browning.  It  perhaps  turned  the  scale  in 
favour  of  his  return  to  Venice  ;  for  the  lady  whose  hospitality 
he  was  to  enjoy  there  was  as  yet  unknown  to  him  ;  and 
nothing  would  have  induced  him  to  enter,  with  his  eyes 
open,  one  of  the  English-haunted  hotels,  in  which  acquaint- 
ance, old  and  new,  would  daily  greet  him  in  the  public 
rooms  or  jostle  him  in  the  corridors. 

He  and  his  sister  remained  at  the  Universo  for  a  fort- 
night ;  their  programme  did  not  this  year  include  a  longer 
Btay  ;  but  it  gave  them  time  to  decide  that  no  place  could 


312  LIFE  AND  LETTERS   OF  [1878^ 

better  suit  tlicm  for  an  autumn  holiday  tban  Venice,  or 
better  lend  itself  to  a  preparatory  sojourn  among  the  Alps  ; 
and  the  plan  of  their  next,  and,  though  they  did  not  know 
it,  many  a  following  summer,  was  thus  sketched  out  before 
the  homeward  journey  had  begun. 

Mr.  Browning  did  not  forget  his  work,  even  while 
resting  from  it ;  if  indeed  he  did  rest  entirely  on  this 
occasion.  He  consulted  a  Russian  lady  whom  he  met  at 
the  hotel,  on  the  names  he  was  introducing  in  Ivan  Ivdno- 
vitch.  It  would  be  interesting  to  know  what  suggestions  or 
corrections  she  made,  and  how  far  they  adapted  themselves 
to  the  rhythm  already  established,  or  compelled  changes  in 
it ;  but  the  one  alternative  would  as  little  have  troubled 
him  as  the  other.  Mrs.  Browning  told  Mr.  Prinsep  that 
her  husband  could  never  alter  the  wording  of  a  poem 
without  rewriting  it,  indeed,  practically  converting  it 
into  another  ;  though  he  more  than  once  tried  to  do  so 
at  her  instigation.  But  to  the  end  of  his  life  he  could 
at  any  moment  recast  a  line  or  passage  for  the  sake  of 
greater  correctness,  and  leave  all  that  was  essential  in 
it  untouched. 

Seven  times  more  in  the  eleven  years  which  remained 
to  him,  Mr.  Browning  spent  the  autumn  in  Venice.  Once 
also,  in  18S2,  he  had  proceeded  towards  it  as  far  as  Verona, 
when  the  floods  which  marked  the  autumn  of  that  year 
arrested  his  farther  course.  Each  time  he  had  halted  first 
in  some  more  or  less  elevated  spot,  generally  suggested  by 
his  French  friend,  Monsieur  Dourlans,  himself  an  inveterate 
wanderer,  whose  inclinations  also  tempted  him  off  the  beaten 
track.  The  places  he  most  enjoyed  were  Saint-Pierre  la 
Chartreuse   and    Gressoney    Saint-Jean,   where   he   stayed 


1880]  ROBERT  BROWNING  313 

respectively  in  1881  and  1882,  1883  and  1885.  Both  of 
these  had  the  drawbacks,  and  what  might  easily  have  been 
the  dangers,  of  remoteness  from  the  civilized  world.  But 
this  weighed  with  him  so  little,  that  he  remained  there  in 
each  case  till  the  weather  had  broken,  though  there  was  no 
sheltered  conveyance  in  which  he  and  his  sister  could  travel 
down ;  and  on  the  later  occasions  at  least,  circumstances 
might  easily  have  combined  to  prevent  their  departure  for 
an  indefinite  time.  He  became,  indeed,  so  attached  to  Gres- 
Boney,  with  its  beautiful  outlook  upon  Monte  Rosa,  that 
nothing  I  believe  would  have  hindered  his  returning,  or  at 
least  contemplating  a  return  to  it,  but  the  great  fatigue  to 
his  sister  of  the  mule  ride  up  the  mountain,  by  a  path  which 
made  walking,  wherever  possible,  the  easier  course.  They 
did  walk  down  it  in  the  early  October  of  1885,  and  completed 
the  hard  seven  hours'  trudge  to  San  Martino  d'Aosta,  with- 
out an  atom  of  refreshment  or  a  minute's  rest. 

One  of  the  great  attractions  of  Saint-Pierre  was  the 
vicinity  of  the  Grande  Chartreuse,  to  which  Mr.  Browning 
made  frequent  expeditions,  staying  there  through  the  night 
in  order  to  hear  the  midnight  mass.  Miss  Crowning  also 
once  attempted  the  visit,  but  was  not  allowed  to  enter  the 
monastery.     She  slept  in  the  adjoining  convent. 

The  brother  and  sister  were  again  at  the  Uuiverso  in 
1879,  1880,  and  1881  ;  but  the  crash  was  rapidly  approach- 
ing, and  soon  afterwards  it  came.  The  old  Palazzo  passed 
into  other  hands,  and  after  a  short  period  of  private  owner- 
ship was  consigned  to  the  purposes  of  an  Art  Gallery. 

In  1880,  however,  they  had  been  introduced  by  l^Irs. 
Story  to  an  American  resident,  Mrs.  Arthur  Bronson,  and 
entered  into  most  friendly  relations  with  her  ;  and  when, 


S14  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [188I- 

after  a  year's  interval,  they  were  again  contemplating  an 
autumn  in  Venice,  she  placed  at  their  disposal  a  suite  of 
rooms  in  the  Palazzo  Giustiniani  Recanati,  which  formed  a 
supplement  to  her  own  house  [Casa  Alvisi] — making  the 
offer  with  a  kindly  urgency  which  forbade  all  thought 
of  declining  it.  They  inhabited  these  for  a  second  time  in 
1885,  keeping  house  for  themselves  in  the  simple  but  com- 
fortable foreign  manner  they  both  so  well  enjoyed,  only 
dining  and  spending  the  evening  with  their  friend.  But 
when,  in  1888,  they  were  going,  as  they  thought,  to  repeat  the 
aiTangement,  they  found,  to  their  surprise,  a  little  apartment 
prepared  for  them  under  Mrs.  Bronson's  own  roof.  This 
act  of  hospitality  involved  a  special  kindness  on  her  part,  of 
which  Mr.  Browning  only  became  aware  at  the  close  of  a 
prolonged  stay  ;  and  a  sense  of  increased  gratitude  added 
itself  to  the  affectionate  regard  with  which  his  hostess  had 
already  inspired  both  his  sister  and  him.  So  far  as  he  is 
concerned,  the  fact  need  only  be  indicated.  It  is  fully 
expressed  in  the  preface  to  Asolando} 

During  the  first  and  fresher  period  of  Mr.  Browning's 
visits  to  Venice,  he  found  a  passing  attraction  in  its  society. 
It  held  an  historical  element  which  harmonized  well 
with  the  decayed  magnificence  of  the  city,  its  old-world 
repose,  and  the  comparatively  simple  modes  of  intercourse 
still  prevailing  there.  Mrs.  Bronson's  salon  was  hospitably 
open  whenever  her  health  allowed ;  but  her  natural  refine- 
ment, and  the  conservatism  which  so  strongly  marks  the 

*  [See  the  interesting  article  entitled  "  Browning  in  Venice,"  by 
Mrs.  Bronson,  printed  (with  a  prefatory  note  by  Mr.  Henry  James) 
In  the  Comhill  Magazine  for  February,  1902.  Mrs.  Bronson  died 
iji  1900.] 


1888]  ROBERT  BROWNING  315 

higher  class  of  Americans,  preserved  it  from  the  hetero- 
geneous character  which  Anglo-foreign  sociability  so  often 
assumes.  Yery  interesting,  even  important  names  lent 
their  prestige  to  her  circle  ;  and  those  of  Don  Carlos  and 
his  family,  of  Prince  and  Princess  Iturbide,  of  Prince  and 
Princess  liletternich,  and  of  Princess  Montenegro,  were  on 
the  list  of  her  habitues,  and  in  the  case  of  the  rcyal 
Spaniards,  of  her  friends.  It  need  hardly  be  said  that 
the  great  English  poet,  with  his  fast  spreading  reputation 
and  his  infinite  social  charm,  was  kindly  welcomed  and 
warmly  appreciated  amongst  them. 

English  and  American  acquaintances  also  congregated  in 
Venice,  or  passed  through  it  from  London,  Florence,  and 
Rome.  Those  resident  in  Italy  could  make  their  visits 
coincide  with  those  of  Mr.  Browning  and  his  sister,  or 
undertake  the  journey  for  the  sake  of  seeing  them  ;  whUe 
the  outward  conditions  of  hfe  were  such  as  to  render 
friendly  intercourse  more  satisfactory,  and  common  social 
civiHties  less  irksome  than  they  could  be  at  home.  Mr. 
Browning  was,  however,  already  too  advanced  in  years,  too 
familiar  with  everything  which  the  world  can  give,  to  be 
long  affected  by  the  novelty  of  these  experiences.  It  was 
inevitable  that  the  need  of  rest,  though  often  for  the 
moment  forgotten,  should  assert  itself  more  and  more.  He 
gradually  declined  on  the  society  of  a  small  number  of 
resident  or  semi-resident  friends  ;  and,  due  exception  being 
made  for  the  hospitalities  of  his  temporary  home,  became 
indebted  to  the  kindness  of  Sir  Henry  and  Lady  Layard,  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Curtis  of  Palazzo  Barbaro,  and  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Frederic  Eden,  for  most  of  the  social  pleasure  and 
comfort  of  his  later  residences  in  Venice. 


S16  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1881 

Part  of  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald  gives  au  insight 
into  the  character  of  his  life  there :  all  the  stronger  that  it 
was  written  under  a  temporary  depression  which  it  partly 
serves  to  explain. 

"  Albergo  dell'  Universo,  Venezia,  Italia  :  Sept.  24,  '81. 

"  Dear  Friend, — On  arriving  here  I  found  your  letter  to 
my  great  satisfaction — and  yesterday  brought  the  Saturday 
Review — for  which,  many  thanks. 

"  We  left  our  strange  but  lovely  place  on  the  18th,  reach- 
ing Chambery  at  evening, — stayed  the  next  day  there, — 
walking,  among  other  diversions,  to  '  Les  Charmettes,'  the 
famous  abode  of  Rousseau — kept  much  as  when  he  left  it : 
I  visited  it  with  my  wife  perhaps  twenty-five  years  ago,  and 
played  so  much  of  '  Rousseau's  Dream '  as  could  be  effected 
on  his  antique  harpsichord  :  this  time  I  attempted  the  same 
feat,  but  only  two  notes  or  thereabouts  out  of  the  octave 
would  answer  the  touch.  Next  morning  we  proceeded  to 
Turin,  and  on  Wednesday  got  here,  in  the  middle  of  the 
last  night  of  the  Congress  Carnival — rowing  up  the  Canal 
to  our  Albergo  through  a  dazzling  blaze  of  lights  and  throng 
of  boats, — there  being,  if  we  are  told  truly,  50,000  strangers 
in  the  city.  Rooms  had  been  secured  for  us,  however  :  and 
the  festivities  are  at  an  end,  to  my  great  joy, — for  Venice  is 
resuming  its  old  quiet  aspect — the  only  one  I  value  at  all. 
Our  American  friends  wanted  to  take  us  in  their  gondola  to 
see  the  principal  illuminations  after  the  '  Serenade,'  which 
was  not  over  before  midnight — but  I  was  contented  with 
that — being  tired  and  indisposed  for  talking,  and,  having 
seen  and  heard  quite  enough  from  our  own  balcony,  went 
to  bed :  S.  having  betaken  her  to  her  own  room  long 
before. 

"  Next  day  we  took  stock  of  our  acquaintances, — found 
that  the  Storys,  on  whom  we  had  counted  for  company, 


1881]  TvOBERT   BROWNING  317 

were  at  Yallombrosa,  though  the  two  sons  have  a  studio 
here- -other  friends  are  in  sufficient  number  however — and 
last  evening  we  began  our  visits  by  a  very  classical  one — to 
the  Countess  Mocenigo,  in  her  palace  which  Byron  occupied  : 
she  is  a  charming  widow  since  two  years, — young,  pretty 
and  of  the  prettiest  manners  ;  she  showed  us  all  the  rooms 
Byron  had  lived  in, — and  I  wrote  my  name  in  her  album  on 
the  desk  himself  wrote  the  last  canto  of  Ch.  Haro.d  and 
Beppo  upon.  There  was  a  small  party  :  we  were  taken  and 
introduced  by  the  Layards  who  are  kind  as  ever,  and  I  met 
old  friends — Lord  Aberdare,  Charles  Bowen,  and  others. 
While  I  write  comes  a  deliciously  fresh  houquet  from  Mrs. 
Bronson,  an  American  lady, — in  short  we  shall  find  a  week 
or  two  amusing  enough  ;  though — -where  are  the  pinewoods, 
mountains  and  torrents,  and  wonderful  air  ?  Venice  is 
Dnder  a  cloud, — dull  and  threatening, — though  we  were 
apprehensive  of  heat,  arriving,  as  we  did,  ten  days  earlier 
than  last  year.  ..." 

The  evening's  programme  was  occasionally  varied  by  a 
visit  to  one  of  the  theatres.  The  plays  given  were  chiefly 
in  the  Yenetian  dialect,  and  needed  previous  study  for  their 
enjoyment ;  but  Mr.  Browning  assisted  at  one  musical  per- 
formance which  strongly  appealed  to  his  historical  and 
artistic  sensibilities  :  that  of  the  Barhiere  of  Paisiello  in  the 
Rossini  theatre  and  in  the  presence  of  Wagner,  which  took 
place  in  the  autumn  of  1880. 

Although  the  manner  of  his  sojourn  in  the  Italian  city 
placed  all  the  resources  of  resident  life  at  his  command,  Mr. 
Browning  never  abjured  the  active  habits  of  the  English 
traveller.  He  daily  walked  with  his  sister,  as  he  did  in  the 
mountains,  for  walking's  sake,  as  well  as  for  the  delight  of 
what  his  expeditions  showed  him  ;  and  the  facilities  which 


318  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [I88I- 

they  supplied  for  this  healthful  pleasurable  exercise  were  to 
his  mind  one  of  the  great  merits  of  his  autumn  residences 
in  Italy.  He  explored  Venice  in  all  directions,  and  learned 
to  know  its  many  points  of  beauty  and  interest,  as  those 
cannot  who  believe  it  is  only  to  be  seen  from  a  gondola  ; 
and  when  he  had  visited  its  every  corner,  he  fell  back  on  a 
favourite  stroll  along  the  Eiva  to  the  public  garden  and 
back  again  ;  never  failing  to  leave  the  house  at  about  the 
same  hour  of  the  day.  Later  still,  when  a  friend's  gondola 
was  always  at  hand,  and  air  and  sunshine  were  the  one 
thing  needful,  he  would  be  carried  to  the  Lido,  and  take  a 
long  stretch  on  its  farther  shore. 

The  letter  to  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald,  from  which  I  have 
already  quoted,  concludes  with  the  account  of  a  tragic 
occurrence  which  took  place  at  Saint-Pierre  just  before  his 
departure,  and  in  which  Mr.  Browning's  intuitions  had 
played  a  striking  part. 

"And  what  do  you  think  befell  us  in  this  abode  of 
peace  and  innocence  ?  Our  journey  was  delayed  for  three 
hours  in  consequence  of  the  one  mule  of  the  village  being 
requisitioned  by  the  Juge  d' Instruction  from  Grenoble,  come 
to  enquire  into  a  murder  committed  two  days  before.  My 
sister  and  I  used  once  a  day  to  walk  for  a  couple  of  hours 
up  a  mountain-road  of  the  most  lovely  description,  and  stop 
at  the  summit  whence  we  looked  down  upon  the  minute 
hamlet  of  St.-Pierre  d'Entremont, — even  more  secluded 
than  our  own  :  then  we  got  back  to  our  own  aforesaid. 
And  in  this  Paradisial  place,  they  found,  yesterday  week,  a 
murdered  man — frightfully  mutilated — who  had  been  caught 
apparently  in  the  act  of  stealing  potatoes  in  a  field  ;  such  a 
crime  had  never  occurred  in  the  memory  of  the  oldest  of 


4 


1882]  ROBERT   CROWNING  819 

our  folk.  Who  was  the  murderer  is  the  mystery — whether 
the  field's  owner — in  his  iriitation  at  discovering  the  robber, 
— or  one  of  a  band  of  similar  diarhonniers  (for  they  suppose 
the  man  to  be  a  Piedmontese  of  that  occupation)  remains 
to  be  proved :  they  began  by  imprisoning  the  owner,  who 
denies  his  guilt  energetically.  Now  the  odd  thing  is,  that, 
either  the  day  of,  or  after  the  murder, — as  I  and  S.  were 
looking  at  the  utter  solitude,  I  had  the  fancy,  '  "What 
should  I  do  if  I  suddenly  came  upon  a  dead  body  in  this 
field  ?  Go  and  proclaim  it — and  subject  myself  to  all  the 
vexations  inflicted  by  the  French  way  of  procedure  (which 
begins  by  assuming  that  you  may  be  the  criminal) — or 
neglect  an  obvious  duty,  and  return  silently.'  I,  of  course, 
saw  that  the  former  was  the  only  proper  course,  whatever 
the  annoyance  involved.  And,  all  the  while,  there  was  just 
about  to  be  the  very  same  incident  for  the  trouble  of  some- 
body." 

Here  the  account  breaks  off ;  but  writing  again  from 
the  same  place,  August  16,  1882,  he  takes  up  the  suspended 
narrative  with  this  question  : 

"  Did  I  tell  you  of  what  happened  to  me  on  the  last  day 
of  my  stay  here  last  year  ?  "  And  after  repeating  the  main 
facts  continues  as  follows  : 

"  This  morning,  in  the  course  of  my  walk,  I  entered 
into  conversation  with  two  persons  of  whom  I  made  enquiry 
myself.  They  said  the  accused  man,  a  simple  person,  had 
been  locked  up  in  a  high  chamber, — protesting  his  innocence 
strongly, — and  troubled  in  his  mind  by  the  affair  altogether 
and  the  turn  it  was  taking,  had  profited  by  the  gendarme's 
negligence,  and  thrown  himself  out  of  the  window — and  so 
died,  continuing  to  the  last  to  protest  as  before.  My  pre- 
sentiment of  what  such  a  person  might  have  to  undergo  was 


820  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1882 

justified,  you  see — though  I  should  not  in  any  case  have 
taken  that  way  of  getting  out  of  the  difficulty.  The  man 
added,  '  it  was  not  he  who  committed  the  murder,  but  the 
companions  of  the  man,  an  Italian  charcoal-burner,  who 
owed  him  a  grudge,  killed  him,  and  dragged  him  to  the 
field, — filling  his  sack  with  potatoes  as  if  stolen,  to  give  a 
likelihood  that  the  field's  owner  had  caught  him  stealing 
and  killed  him, — so  M.  Perrier  the  greffier  told  me.' 
Enough  of  this  grim  story. 

"  My  sister  was  anxious  to  know  exactly  where  the  body 
was  found  :  '  Vouz  savez  la  croix  au  sommet  tie  la  colllne? 
A  ceite  distance  de  celaT  That  is  precisely  where  I  was 
standing  when  the  thought  came  over  me." 

A  passage  in  a  subsequent  letter  of  September  3  clearly 
refers  to  some  comment  of  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald's  on  the  peculiar 
nature  of  this  presentiment : 

"  No — I  attribute  no  sort  of  supernaturalism  to  my 
fancy  about  the  thing  that  was  really  about  to  take  place. 
By  a  law  of  the  association  of  ideas — contraries  come  into 
the  mind  as  often  as  similarities — and  the  peace  and  solitude 
readily  called  up  the  notion  of  what  would  most  jar  with 
them.  I  have  often  thought  of  the  trouble  that  might 
have  befallen  me  if  poor  Miss  Smith's  death  had  happened 
the  night  before,  when  we  were  on  the  mountain  alone 
together — or  next  morning  when  we  were  on  the  proposed 
excursion — only  then  we  should  have  had  companions." 

The  letter  then  passes  to  other  subjects. 

"  This  is  the  fifth  magnificent  day — like  magnificence, 
unfit  for  turning  to  much  account — for  we  cannot  walk  till 
Bunset.     I  had  two  hours'  walk,  or  nearly,  before  breakfast, 


1882]  ROBERT  BROWNING  821 

however :  It  is  the  loveliest  country  I  ever  had  experience 
of,  and  we  shall  prolong  our  stay  perhaps — apart  from  the 
concern  for  poor  Cholinondeley  and  his  friends,  I  should  he 
glad  to  apprehend  no  long  journey — besides  the  annoyance 
of  having  to  pass  Florence  and  Rome  unvisited,  for  S.'s 
sake,  I  mean :  even  Naples  would  have  been  with  its 
wonderful  environs  a  tantalizing  impracticability. 

"  Your  '  Academy '  came  and  was  welcomed.  The  news- 
paper is  like  an  electric  eel,  as  one  touches  it  and  expects  a 
shock.  I  am  very  anxious  about  the  Archbishop  who  has 
always  been  strangely  kind  to  me." 

He  and  his  sister  had  accepted  an  invitation  to  spend 
the  month  of  October  with  Mr.  Cholmondeley  at  his  villa 
in  Ischia  ;  but  the  party  assembled  there  was  broken  up  by 
the  death  of  one  of  Mr.  Cholmondeley's  guests,  a  young 
lady  who  had  imprudently  attempted  the  ascent  of  a 
dangerous  mountain  without  a  guide,  and  who  lost  her  life 
in  the  experiment. 

A  short  extract  from  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Charles  Skirrow 
will  show  that  even  in  this  complete  seclusion  Mr.  Brown- 
ing's patriotism  did  not  go  to  sleep.  There  had  been 
already  sufficient  evidence  that  his  friendship  did  not ;  but 
it  was  not  in  the  nature  of  his  mental  activities  that  they 
should  be  largely  absorbed  by  politics,  though  he  followed 
the  course  of  his  country's  history  as  a  necessary  part  of  his 
own  life.  It  needed  a  crisis  like  that  of  our  Egyptian  cam- 
paign, or  the  subsequent  Irish  struggle,  to  arouse  him  to  a 
full  emotional  participation  in  current  events.  How  deeply 
he  could  be  thus  aroused  remained  yet  to  be  seen. 

"  If  the  George  Smiths  are  still  with  you,  give  them  my 
love,  and  tell  them  we  shall  expect  to  see  them  at  Venice, — ■ 

T 


LIFE   AND   LETTERS    OF  [1879- 

which  was  not  so  likely  to  be  the  case  when  we  were  bound 
for  Ischia.  As  for  Lady  Wolseley — one  dares  not  pretend 
to  vie  with  her  in  anxiety  just  now ;  but  my  own  pulses 
beat  pretty  strongly  when  I  open  the  day's  newspaper — 
which,  by  some  new  arrangement,  reaches  us,  oftener  than 
not,  on  the  day  after  publication.  Where  is  your  Bertie  ? 
I  had  an  impassioned  letter,  a  fortnight  ago,  from  a  nephew 
of  mine,  who  is  in  the  second  division  [battalion  ?]  of  the 
Black  Watch  ;  he  was  ordered  to  Edinburgh,  and  the  regi- 
ment not  dispatched,  after  all, — it  having  just  returned 
from  India  ;  the  poor  fellow  wrote  in  his  despair  '  to  know 
if  I  could  do  anything  I '  He  may  be  wanted  yet :  though 
nothing  seems  wanted  in  Egypt,  so  capital  appears  to  be  the 
management." 

In  1879  Mr.  Browning  published  the  first  series  of  his 
Dramatic  Idyh  ;  and  their  appearance  sent  a  thrill  of 
surprised  admiration  through  the  public  mind.  In  La 
Saisiaz  and  the  accompanying  poems  he  had  accomplished 
what  was  virtually  a  life's  work.  For  he  was  approaching 
the  appointed  limit  of  man's  existence  ;  and  the  poetic, 
which  had  been  nourished  in  him  by  the  natural  life — which 
had  once  outstripped  its  developments,  but  on  the  whole 
remained  subject  to  them — had  therefore,  also,  passed 
through  the  successive  phases  of  individual  growth.  He 
had  been  inspired  as  dramatic  poet  by  the  one  avowed  con- 
viction that  little  else  is  worth  study  but  the  history  of  a 
soul ;  and  outward  act  or  circumstance  had  only  entered 
into  his  creations  as  condition  or  incident  of  the  given 
psychological  state.  His  dramatic  imagination  had  first, 
however  unconsciously,  sought  its  materials  in  himself; 
then  gradually  been  projected  into  the  world  of  men  and 
women,  which  his  widening  knowledge  laid  open  to  him ;  ife 


1880]  ROBERT  BROWNING  323 

is  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  its  power  was  only  fully 
revealed  when  it  left  the  remote  regions  of  poetical  and 
metaphysical  self-consciousness,  to  invoke  the  not  less 
mysterious  and  far  more  searching  utterance  of  the  general 
human  heart.  It  was  a  matter  of  course  that  in  this 
expression  of  his  dramatic  genius,  the  intellectual  and 
emotional  should  exhibit  the  varying  relations  which  are 
developed  by  the  natural  life :  that  feeling  should  begin  by 
doing  the  work  of  thought,  as  in  Saul,  and  thought  end  by 
doing  the  work  of  feeling,  as  in  Fifine  at  the  Fair ;  and 
that  the  two  should  alternate  or  combine  in  proportioned 
intensity  in  such  works  of  an  intermediate  period  as  Cleon, 
A  Death  in  the  Desert,  the  Epistle  of  Karshish,  and  James 
Lee's  Wife ;  the  sophistical  ingenuities  of  Bishop  Blougram 
and  Sludge ;  and  the  sad,  appealing  tenderness  of  Andrea 
del  Sarto  and  The  Worst  of  It. 

It  was  also  almost  inevitable  that  so  vigorous  a  genius 
should  sometimes  falsify  calculations  based  on  the  normal  life. 
The  long-continued  force  and  freshness  of  Mr.  Browning's 
general  faculties  was  in  itself  a  protest  against  them. 
We  saw  without  surprise  that  during  the  decade  which  pro- 
duced Prince  Hohenstiel-Schivangau,  Fifine  at  the  Fair,  and 
Red  Cotton  Nightcap  Country,  he  could  give  us  The  Inn 
Alium,  with  its  expression  of  the  higher  sexual  love  unsur- 
passed, rarely  equalled,  in  the  whole  range  of  his  work :  or 
those  two  unique  creations  of  airy  fancy  and  passionate 
symbolic  romance,  Saint  Martin's  Summer  and  Numpholeptos. 
It  was  no  ground  for  astonishment  that  the  creative  power 
in  him  should  even  ignore  the  usual  period  of  decline,  and 
defy,  so  far  as  is  humanly  possible,  its  natural  laws  of 
modification.     But  in  the  Dramatic  Idyls  he  did  more  than 


S24  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1879- 

procecd  with  unJSagging  powers  on  a  long-trodden,  distinctive 
course  ;  he  took  a  new  departure. 

Mr.  Browning  did  not  forsake  the  drama  of  motive 
when  he  imagined  and  worked  out  his  new  group  of  poems  ; 
he  presented  it  in  a  no  less  subtle  and  complex  form.  Bub 
he  gave  it  the  added  force  of  picturesque  realization ;  and 
this  by  means  of  incidents  both  powerful  in  themselves, 
and  especially  suited  for  its  development.  It  was  only  in 
proportion  to  this  higher  suggestiveness  that  a  startling 
situation  ever  seemed  to  him  fit  subject  for  poetry.  Where 
its  interest  and  excitement  exhausted  themselves  in  the 
external  facts,  it  became,  he  thought,  the  property  of  the 
chronicler,  but  supplied  no  material  for  the  poet ;  and  he 
often  declined  matter  which  had  been  offered  him  for 
dramatic  treatment  because  it  belonged  to  the  more 
sensational  category. 

It  is  part  of  the  vital  quality  of  the  Dramatic  Idyls  that, 
in  them,  the  act  and  the  motive  are  not  yet  finally  identified 
with  each  other.  We  see  the  act  still  palpitating  with  the 
motive  ;  the  motive  dimly  striving  to  recognize  or  disclaim 
itself  in  the  act.  It  is  in  this  that  the  psychological  poet 
stands  more  than  ever  strongly  revealed.  Such  at  least  is 
the  case  in  Martin  Relph,  and  the  idealized  Russian  legend, 
Ivan  Ivanovitch.  The  grotesque  tragedy  of  Ned  Drafts  has 
also  its  marked  psychological  aspects,  but  they  are  of  a 
simpler  and  broader  kind. 

The  new  inspiration  slowly  subsided  through  the  second 
series  of  Idt/ls,  1880,  and  Jocoseria,  1883.  In  Ferishtah's 
Fancies,  1884,  Mr.  Browning  returned  to  his  original 
manner,  though  carrying  into  it  something  of  the  renewed 
viffour  which  had  marked  the  intervening  change.     The 


1884]  ROBERT  BROWNING  325 

lyrics  wliich  alternate  with  its  parables  include  some  of  the 
most  tender,  most  impassioned,  and  most  musical  of  his 
love-poems. 

The  moral  and  religious  opinions  conveyed  in  this  later 
volume  may  be  accepted  without  reserve  as  Mr.  Browning's 
own,  if  we  subtract  from  them  the  exaggerations  of  the 
figurative  and  dramatic  form.  It  is  indeed  easy  to  recognize 
in  them  the  under  currents  of  his  whole  real  and  imagina- 
tive life.  They  have  also  on  one  or  two  points  an  intrinsic 
value  which  will  justify  a  later  allusion.^ 

1  [An  interesting  light  is  thrown  upon  the  comparative  popu- 
larity of  the  poetry  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning  at  this  date  by  a 
letter  to  the  Rev.  H.  R.  Haweis,  written  on  May  11,  1880  (now  in 
the  British  Museum).  Browning  was  now  at  the  height  of  his  repu- 
tation, while  his  wife's  poetry,  one  would  have  said,  was  suffering 
from  an  undeserved  reaction,  which  lasted  until  the  publication  of 
her  letters.  The  concrete  testimony  of  the  sales  of  their  respective 
works,  however,  tells  a  different  tale,  and  illustrates  the  truth  that 
the  course  of  critical  opinion  in  what  may  be  called  literary  circles 
is  far  from  being  an  infallible  test  of  popularity. 

"  On  one  point  you  are  misinformed,  you  wiU  be  glad  to  know : 
instead  of  the  poetry  of  E.  B.  B.  being  '  almost  forgotten,'  it  is  more 
remembered — or,  at  least,  called  for  in  order  to  be  remembered — 
than  it  ever  was.  A  note  from  the  Publisher,  four  days  ago,  apprises 
me  that  the  almost  yearly  new  edition  of  the  five  volumes  is  out, — 
and  the  corresponding  edition  of  '  Aurora  Leigh,' — while  a  second 
series  of  Selections  from  the  Poetry  is  just  printed.  The  demand 
for  my  own  works  is  nothing  like  so  large."] 


326  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF 


CHAPTER  XX 
1881-1887 

The  Browning  Society ;  Mr.  Fumivall ;  Miss  E.  H.  Hickey — His 
Attitude  towards  the  Society;  Letter  to  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald — 
Mr.  Thaxter,  Mrs.  Celia  Thaxter — Letter  to  Lliss  Hickey; 
Strafford — Shakspere  and  Wordsworth  Societies — Letters  to 
Professor  Knight — Appreciation  in  Italy  ;  Professor  Nencioni 
— The  Goldoni  Sonnet — Mr.  Barrett  Browning ;  Palazzo  Man- 
zoni — Letters  to  Mrs.  Charles  Skirrow — St.  Moritz  ;  Mrs. 
Bloomfield  Moore — LlangoUen  ;  Sir  Theodore  and  Lady  Martin 
— Loss  of  old  Friends — Foreign  Correspondent  of  the  Royal 
Academy — Parleyings  with  certain  Feojple  of  Importance  in 
their  Day. 

This  Indian  summer  of  Mr.  Browning's  genius  coincided 
with  the  highest  manifestation  of  public  interest,  which  he, 
or  with  one  exception,  any  living  writer,  had  probably  yet 
received  :  the  establishment  of  a  Society  bearing  his  name, 
and  devoted  to  the  study  of  his  poetry.  The  idea  arose 
almost  simultaneously  in  the  mind  of  Dr.,  then  Mr.  Fumi- 
vall, and  of  Miss  E.  H.  Hickey.  One  day,  in  the  July  of 
1881,  as  they  were  on  their  way  to  Warwick  Crescent  to 
pay  an  appointed  visit  there.  Miss  Hickey  strongly  expressed 
her  opinion  of  the  power  and  breadth  of  Mr.  Browning's 
work  ;  and  concluded  by  saying  that  much  as  she  loved 
Shakespeare,  she  found  in  certain  aspects  of  Browning  what 
even  Shakespeare  could  not  give  her.  Mr.  Fumivall  replied 
to  this  by  asking  what  she  would  say  to  helping  him  to 


18811  ROBERT  BROWNING  327 

found  a  Browning  Society  ;  and  it  then  appeared  that  Miss 
Hickey  had  recently  written  to  him  a  letter,  suggesting  that 
he  should  found  one  j  but  that  it  had  miscarried,  or,  as 
fihe  was  disposed  to  think,  not  been  posted.  Being  thus,  at 
all  events,  agreed  as  to  the  fitness  of  the  undertaking,  they 
immediately  spoke  of  it  to  Mr.  Browning,  who  at  first 
treated  the  project  as  a  joke  ;  but  did  not  oppose  it  when 
once  he  understood  it  to  be  serious.  His  only  proviso  was 
that  he  should  remain  neutral  in  respect  to  its  fulfilmeat. 
He  refused  even  to  give  Mr.  Furnivall  the  name  or  address 
of  any  friends,  whose  interest  in  himself  or  his  work  might 
render  their  co-operation  probable. 

This  passive  assent  sufficed.  A  printed  prospectus  was 
now  issued.  About  two  hundred  members  were  soon 
secured.  A  committee  was  elected,  of  which  Mr.  J.  T. 
Nettleship,  already  well  known  as  a  Browning  student,  was 
one  of  the  most  conspicuous  members  ;  and  by  the  end  of 
October  a  small  Society  had  come  into  existence,  which 
held  its  inaugural  meeting  in  the  Botanic  Theatre  of 
University  College.  Mr.  Furnivall,  its  principal  founder 
and  responsible  organizer,  was  Chairman  of  the  Committee, 
and  Miss  E.  H.  Hickey,  the  co-founder,  was  Honorary 
Secretary.  "When,  two  or  three  years  afterwards,  illness 
compelled  her  to  resign  this  position,  it  was  assumed  by 
Mr.  J.  Dykes  Campbell. 

Although  nothing  could  be  more  unpretending  than  the 
action  of  this  Browning  Society,  or  in  the  main  more 
genuine  than  its  motive,  it  did  not  begin  life  without 
encountering  ridicule  and  mistrust.  The  formation  of  a 
Ruskin  Society  in  the  previous  year  had  already  established 
a  precedent  for  allowing  a  still  living  worker  to  enjoy  the 


328  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [188I 

fruits  of  Ms  work,  or,  as  some  one  termed  it,  for  making  a 
man  a  classic  during  his  lifetime.  But  this  fact  was  not 
yet  generally  known ;  and  meanwhile  a  curious  contradic- 
tion developed  itself  in  the  public  mind.  The  outer  world 
of  Mr.  Browning's  acquaintance  continued  to  condemn  the 
too  great  honour  which  was  being  done  to  him  ;  from  those 
of  the  inner  circle  he  constantly  received  condolences  on 
being  made  the  subject  of  proceedings  which,  according  to 
them,  he  must  somehow  regard  as  an  offence. 

This  was  the  last  view  of  the  case  which  he  was  prepared 
to  take.  At  the  beginning,  as  at  the  end,  he  felt  honoured 
by  the  intentions  of  the  Society.  He  probably,  it  is  true, 
had  occasional  misgivings  as  to  its  future.  He  could  not 
be  sure  that  its  action  would  always  be  judicious,  still 
less  that  it  would  be  always  successful.  He  was  prepared 
for  its  being  laughed  at,  and  for  himself  being  included 
in  the  laughter.  He  consented  to  its  establishment  for 
what  seemed  to  him  the  one  unanswerable  reason,  that 
he  had,  even  on  the  ground  of  taste,  no  just  cause  for 
forbidding  it.  No  line,  he  considered,  could  be  drawn 
between  the  kind  of  publicity  which  every  writer  seeks, 
which,  for  good  or  evil,  he  had  already  obtained,  and  that 
which  the  Browning  Society  was  conferring  on  him.  His 
works  would  still,  as  before,  be  read,  analyzed,  and  discussed 
viva  voce  and  in  print.  That  these  proceedings  would  now 
take  place  in  other  localities  than  drawing-rooms  or  clubs, 
through  other  organs  than  newspapers  or  magazines,  by 
other  and  larger  groups  of  persons  than  those  usually 
gathered  round  a  dinner-  or  a  tea-table,  involved  no  real 
change  in  the  situation.  In  any  case,  he  had  made  himself 
public  property  ;  and  those  who  thus  organized  their  study 


I 


1881]  ROBERT  BROWNING  329 

of  him  were  exercising  an  individual  right.  If  his  own 
rights  had  been  assailed  he  would  have  guarded  them  also  ; 
but  the  circumstances  of  the  case  precluded  such  a  con- 
tingency. And  he  had  his  reward.  How  he  felt  towards 
the  Society  at  the  close  of  its  first  session  is  better  indicated 
in  the  following  letter  to  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald  than  in  the  note 
to  Mr.  Yates  which  Mr.  Sharp  has  published,  and  which 
was  written  with  more  reserve  and,  I  believe,  at  a  rather 
earlier  date.  Even  the  shade  of  condescension  which  lingers 
about  his  words  will  have  been  effaced  by  subsequent 
experience  ;  and  many  letters  written  to  Dr.  Furnivall  since 
then  attested  his  grateful  and  affectionate  appreciation  of 
kindness  intended  and  service  done  to  him.^ 

.  .  .  They  always  treat  me  gently  in  Punch — why  don't 
you  do  the  same  by  the  Browning  Society  ?  I  see  you 
emphasize  Miss  Hickey's  acknowledgement  of  defects  in 
time  and  want  of  rehearsal :  but  I  look  for  no  great  per- 
fection in  a  number  of  kindly  disposed  strangers  to  me  per- 
sonally, who  try  to  interest  people  in  my  poems  by  singing 
and  reading  them.  They  give  their  time  for  nothing,  offer 
their  little  entertainment  for  nothing,  and  certainly  get 
next  to  nothing  in  the  way  of  thanks — unless  from  myself 
who  feel  grateful  to  the  faces  I  shall  never  see,  the  voices  I 
shall  never  hear.  The  kindest  notices  I  have  had,  at  all  events 
those  that  have  given  me  most  pleasure,  have  been  educed 
by  this  Society — A.  Sidgwick's  paper,  that  of  Professor 

'  [See  the  letters  to  Dr.  Furnivall  printed  in  the  two  little  volumes 
issued  for  private  circulation  by  Mr.  T.  J.  Wise  in  1895  and  1896. 
There  is  no  need  to  doubt  Browning's  genuine  gratitude  to  those 
who  bestowed  on  his  work  the  compliment  of  earnest  study  and 
admiration ;  but  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  he  abstained,  aa 
a  rule,  from  reading  the  discussions  of  his  poetry  published  in  tha 
Society's  Proceedings.] 


830  LIFE  AND  LETTERS   OF  [1881 

Corson,  Miss  Lewis'  article  in  this  month's  3lMmillan — 
and  I  feel  grateful  for  it  all,  for  my  part, — and  none  the 
less  for  a  little  amusement  at  the  wonder  of  some  of  my 
friends  that  I  do  not  jump  up  and  denounce  the  practice! 
which  must  annoy  me  so  much.  Oh  1  my  "  gentle  Shake- 
speare," how  well  you  felt  and  said — "  never  anything  can 
be  amiss  when  simpleness  and  duty  tender  it."  So,  dear 
Lady,  here  is  my  duty  and  simplicity  tendering  itself  to 
you,  with  all  affection  besides,  and  I  being  ever  yours, 

K.  Beowninq. 

That  general  disposition  of  the  London  world  which 
left  the  ranks  of  the  little  Society  to  be  three-fourths 
recruited  among  persons,  many  living  at  a  distance,  whom 
the  poet  did  not  know,  became  also  in  its  way  a 
satisfaction.  It  was  with  him  a  matter  of  course,  though 
never  of  indifference,  that  his  closer  friends  of  both  sexes 
were  among  its  members  ;  it  was  one  of  real  gratifica- 
tion that  they  included  from  the  beginning  such  men  as 
Dean  Boyle  of  Salisbury,  the  Rev.  Llewellyn  Davies,  George 
Meredith,  and  James  Cotter  Morison — that  they  enjoyed 
the  sympathy  and  co-operation  of  such  a  one  as  Archdeacon 
Farrar.  But  he  had  an  ingenuous  pride  in  reading  the 
large  remainder  of  the  Society's  lists  of  names,  and  pointing 
out  the  fact  that  there  was  not  one  among  them  which  he 
had  ever  heard.  It  was  equivalent  to  saying,  "  All  these 
people  care  for  me  as  a  poet.  No  social  interest,  no 
personal  prepossession,  has  attracted  them  to  my  work." 
And  when  the  unknown  name  was  not  only  appended  to  a 
list ;  when  it  formed  the  si^mature  of  a  paper — excellent  or 
indifferent  as  might  be — but  in  either  case  bearing  witness 
to  a  careful  and  unobtrusive  study  of  his  poems,  by  so 


1881]  ROBERT  BROWNING  331 

much  was  the  gratification  increased.  He  seldom  weighed 
the  intrinsic  merit  of  such  productions  ;  he  did  not  read 
them  critically.  No  man  was  ever  more  adverse  to  the 
seeming  ungraciousness  of  analyzing  the  quality  of  a  gift. 
In  real  life  indeed  this  power  of  gratitude  sometimes 
defeated  its  own  end,  by  neutrahzing  his  insight  into  the 
motive  or  efifect  involved  in  different  acts  of  kindness,  and 
placing  them  all  successively  on  the  same  plane. 

In  the  present  case,  however,  an  ungraduated  acceptance 
of  the  labour  bestowed  on  him  was  part  of  the  neutral 
attitude  which  it  was  his  constant  endeavour  to  maintain. 
He  always  refrained  from  noticing  any  erroneous  statement 
concerning  himself  or  his  works  which  might  appear  in  the 
Papers  of  the  Society  :  since,  as  he  alleged,  if  he  once 
began  to  correct,  he  would  appear  to  endorse  whatever  he 
left  uncorrected,  and  thus  make  himself  responsible,  not  only 
for  any  interpretation  that  might  be  placed  on  his  poems, 
but,  what  was  far  more  serious,  for  every  eulogium  that 
was  bestowed  upon  them.  He  could  not  stand  aloof  as 
entirely  as  he  or  even  his  friends  desired,  since  it  was  usual 
with  some  members  of  the  Society  to  seek  from  him  eluci- 
dations of  obscure  passages  which,  without  these,  it  was 
declared,  would  be  a  stumbling-block  to  future  readers. 
But  he  disliked  being  even  to  this  extent  drawn  into  its 
operation ;  and  his  help  was,  I  believe,  less  and  less 
frequently  invoked.  Nothing  could  be  more  false  than  the 
rumour  which  once  arose  that  he  superintended  those 
performances  of  his  plays  which  took  place  under  the 
direction  of  the  Society.  Once  only,  and  by  the  urgent 
desire  of  some  of  the  actors,  did  he  witness  a  last  rehearsal 
of  one  of  them. 


332  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [ICJI 

It  was  also  a  matter  of  course  that  men  and  women 
brought  together  by  a  pre-existing  interest  in  Mr.  Brown- 
ing's work  should  often  ignore  its  authorized  explanations, 
and  should  read  and  discuss  it  in  the  light  of  personal 
impressions  more  congenial  to  their  own  mind  ;  and  the 
various  and  circumstantial  views  sometimes  elicited  by  a 
given  poem  did  not  serve  to  render  it  more  intelligible. 
But  the  merit  of  true  poetry  lies  so  largely  in  its  suggestive- 
ness,  that  even  mistaken  impressions  of  it  have  their  positive 
value  and  also  their  relative  truth ;  and  the  intellectual 
friction  which  was  thus  created,  not  only  in  the  parent 
society,  but  in  its  offshoots  in  Engl&nd  and  America,  was 
not  their  least  important  result. 

These  Societies  conferred,  it  need  hardly  be  said,  no  less 
real  benefits  on  the  pubHc  at  large.  They  extended  the 
sale  of  Mr.  Browning's  works,  and  with  it  their  distinct 
influence  for  intellectual  and  moral  good.  They  not  only 
created  in  many  minds  an  interest  in  these  works,  but 
aroused  the  interest  where  it  was  latent,  and  gave  it 
expression  where  it  had  hitherto  found  no  voice.  One 
fault,  alone,  could  be  charged  against  them  ;  and  this  lay 
partly  in  the  nature  of  all  friendly  concerted  action  :  they 
stirred  a  spirit  of  enthusiasm  in  which  it  was  not  easy, 
under  conditions  equally  genuine,  to  distinguish  the  in- 
dividual element  from  that  which  was  due  to  contagion  ; 
while  the  presence  among  us  of  the  still  living  poet  often 
infused  into  that  enthusiasm  a  vaguely  emotional  element, 
which  otherwise  detracted  from  its  intellectual  worth.  But 
in  so  far  as  this  was  a  drawback  to  the  intended  action  of 
the  Societies,  it  was  one  only  in  the  most  limited  sense ; 
nor  can  we  doubt,  that,  to  a  certain  extent,  Mr.  Browning's 


1881]  ROBERT  BROWNING  33S 

best  influence  was  promoted  by  it.  The  hysterical  sensi- 
bilities which,  for  some  years  past,  he  had  unconsciously 
but  not  unfrequently  aroused  in  the  minds  of  women,  and 
even  of  men,  were  a  morbid  development  of  that  influence, 
which  its  open  and  systematic  extension  tended  rather  to 
diminish  than  to  increase. 

It  is  also  a  matter  of  history  that  Robert  Browning  had 
many  deep  and  constant  admirers  in  England,  and  still 
more  in  America,^  long  before  this  organized  interest  had 
developed  itself.  Letters  received  from  often  remote  parts 
of  the  United  States  had  been  for  many  years  a  detail  of 
his  daily  experience  ;  and  even  when  they  consisted  of  the 
request  for  an  autograph,  an  application  to  print  selections 
from  his  works,  or  a  mere  expression  of  schoolboy  pertness 
or  schoolgirl  sentimentality,  they  bore  witness  to  his  wide 
reputation  in  that  country,  and  the  high  esteem  in  which 
he  was  held  there.^  The  names  of  Levi  and  Celia  Thaxter 
of  Boston  had  long,  I  believe,  been  conspicuous  in  the 
higher  ranks  of  his  disciples,  though  they  first  occur  in  his 
correspondence  at  about  this  date.  I  trust  I  may  take  for 
granted  Mrs.  Thaxter's  permission  to  publish  a  letter 
from  her. 

Newtonville,  Massachusetts :  March  14, 1880. 

My  dear  Mr.  Browning  : 

Your  note  reached  me  this  morning,  but  it  belonged  to 
my  husband,  for  it  was  he  who  wrote  to  you ;  so  I  gave  it 

'  The  cheapening  of  his  works  in  America,  induced  by  the 
absence  of  international  copyright,  accounts  of  course  in  some 
degree  for  their  wider  dififusion,  and  hence  earlier  appreciation  there. 

*  One  of  the  most  curious  proofs  of  this  was  the  Californian  Bail- 
way  time-table  edition  of  his  poems. 


334  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [isso- 

to  him,  glad  to  put  into  his  hands  so  precious  a  piece  of 
manuscript,  for  he  has  for  you  and  all  your  work  an 
enthusiastic  appreciation  such  as  is  seldom  found  on  this 
planet :  it  is  not  possible  that  the  admiration  of  one 
mortal  for  another  can  exceed  his  feeling  for  you.  You 
might  have  written  for  him, 

I've  a  friend  over  the  sea, 

It  all  grew  out  of  the  books  I  write,  &c. 

You  should  see  his  fine  wrath  and  scorn  for  the  idiocy 
that  doesn't  at  once  comprehend  you  ! 

He  knows  every  word  you  have  ever  written  ;  long  ago 
Sordello  was  an  open  book  to  him  from  title-page  to  closing 
line,  and  all  you  have  printed  since  has  been  as  eagerly  and 
studiously  devoured.  He  reads  you  aloud  (and  his  reading 
is  a  fine  art)  to  crowds  of  astonished  people,  he  swears  by 
you,  he  thinks  no  one  save  Shakspere  has  a  right  to  be 
mentioned  in  the  same  century  with  you.  You  are  the 
great  enthusiasm  of  his  life. 

Pardon  me,  you  are  smiling,  I  dare  say.  You  hear  any 
amount  of  such  things,  doubtless.  But  a  genuine  living 
appreciation  is  always  worth  having  in  this  old  world,  it  is 
like  a  strong  fresh  breeze  from  off  the  brine,  that  puts  a 
sense  of  life  and  power  into  a  man.  You  cannot  be  the 
worse  for  it. 

Yours  very  sincerely, 

Celia  Thaxtee. 

When  Mr.  Thaxter  died,  in  February  1885,  his  son 
wrote  to  Mr.  Browning  to  beg  of  him  a  few  lines  to  be 
inscribed  on  his  father's  tombstone.  The  little  poem  by 
which  the  request  was  answered  has  not  yet,  I  believe, 
been  published. 


18S5]  ROBERT  BROWNING  335 

Written  to  he  inscribed  on  the  gravestone  of  Levi  Thaxter, 
Thou,  whom  these  eyes  saw  never, — say  friends  true 
Who  say  my  sonl,  helped  onward  by  my  song, 
Though  all  unwittingly,  has  helped  thee  too  ? 
I  gave  but  of  the  little  that  I  knew  : 
How  were  the  gift  requited,  while  along 
Life's  path  I  pace,  could'st  thou  make  weakness  strong, 
Help  me  with  knowl  jdge — for  Life's  old,  Death's  new  1 

R.  B. 

A.pril  19,  '85. 

A  publication  ^vhicli  connected  itself  with  the  labours  of 
the  Society,  without  being  directly  inspired  by  it,  was  the 
annotated  Strafford  prepared  by  Miss  Hickey  for  the  use 
of  students.  It  may  be  agreeable  to  those  who  use  the 
little  work  to  know  the  estimate  in  which  Mr.  Browning 
held  it.     He  wrote  as  follows  : 

19,  Warwick  Crescent,  W. :  February  15,  1884. 

Dear  ]\Iiss  Hickey, — I  have  returned  the  Proofs  by 
post, — nothing  can  be  better  than  your  notes — and  with  a 
real  wish  to  be  of  use,  I  read  them  carefully  that  I  might 
detect  never  so  tiny  a  fault, — but  I  found  none — unless  (to 
show  you  how  miautely  I  searched,)  it  should  be  one  that 
by  *'  thriving  in  your  contempt,"  I  meant  simply  "  while 
you  despise  them,  and  for  all  that,  they  thrive  and  are 
powerful  to  do  you  harm."  The  idiom  you  prefer — quite 
an  authorized  one — comes  to  much  the  same  thing  after  all. 

You  must  know  how  much  I  grieve  at  your  illness — 
temporary  as  I  will  trust  it  to  be — I  feel  all  your  goodness 
to  me — or  whatever  in  my  books  may  be  taken  for  me — 
well,  I  wish  you  knew  how  thoroughly  I  feel  it — and  how 
truly  I  am  and  shaU  ever  be 

Yours  affectionately, 

Robert  Browning. 


336  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [I88O- 

From  the  time  of  the  foundation  of  the  new  Shakspere 
Society,  Mr.  Browning  was  its  president.  In  1880  he 
became  a  member  of  the  Wordsworth  Society.  Two 
interesting  letters  to  Professor  Knight,  dated  respectively 
1880  and  1887,  connect  themselves  with  the  working  of 
the  latter ;  and,  in  spite  of  their  distance  in  time,  may 
therefore  be  given  together.  The  poem  which  formed  the 
subject  of  the  first  was  The  Daisy ;  ^  the  selection  referred 
to  in  the  second  was  that  made  in  1888  by  Professor 
Knight  for  the  Wordsworth  Society,  with  the  co-operation 
of  Mr.  Browning  and  other  eminent  literary  men. 

19,  Warwick  Crescent,  W. :  July  9,  '80. 

My  dear  Sir, — You  pay  me  a  compliment  in  caring  for 
my  opinion — but,  such  as  it  is,  a  very  decided  one  it  must 
be.  On  every  account,  your  method  of  giving  the  original 
text,  and  subjoining  in  a  note  the  variations,  each  with  its 
proper  date,  is  incontestably  preferable  to  any  other.  It 
would  be  so,  if  the  variations  were  even  improvements — 
there  would  be  pleasure  as  well  as  profit  in  seeing  what  was 
good  grow  visibly  better.  But — to  confine  ourselves  to  the 
single  "  proof "  you  have  sent  me — in  every  case  the 
change  is  sadly  for  the  worse  :  I  am  quite  troubled  by 
such  spoilings  of  passage  after  passage  as  I  should  have 
chuckled  at  had  I  chanced  upon  them  in  some  copy  pencil- 
marked  with  corrections  by  Jeffrey  or  Gifford  :  indeed, 
they  are  nearly  as  wretched  as  the  touchings-up  of  the  Siege 
of  Corinth  by  the  latter.  If  ever  diaboHc  agency  was 
caught  at  tricks  with  "  apostolic  "  achievement  (see  page  9) 
— and  "apostolic,"  with  no  "profanity"  at  all,  I  esteem 
these  poems  to  be — surely  you  may  bid  it  "  aroint "  "  about 
»  That  beginning,  "  In  youth  from  rook  to  rock  I  went," 


1887]  ROBERT  BROWNING  337 

and  all  about "  these  desecrated  stanzas — each  of  which, 
however,  thanks  to  your  piety,  we  may  hail,  I  trust,  with  a 
hearty 

Thy  long-lost  praise  thou  shalt  regaia 
Nor  be  less  dear  to  future  men 
Than  in  old  time ! 

Believe  me,  my  dear  Sir, 

Yours  very  sincerely, 

Robert  Browning. 

19,  Warwick  Crescent,  W. :  March  23,  '87. 

Dear  Professor  Knight, — I  have  seemed  to  neglect 
your  commission  shamefully  enough  :  but  I  confess  to  a 
sort  of  repugnance  to  classifying  the  poems  as  even  good 
and  less  good  :  because  in  my  heart  I  fear  I  should  do  it 
almost  chronologically — so  immeasureably  superior  seem  to 
me  the  "  first  sprightly  runnings."  Your  selection  would 
appear  to  be  excellent ;  and  the  partial  admittance  of  the 
later  work  prevents  one  from  observing  the  too  definitely 
distinguishing  black  line  between  supremely  good  and — 
well,  what  is  fairly  tolerable — from  Wordsworth,  always 
understand  1  I  have  marked  a  few  of  the  early  poems, 
not  included  in  your  list — I  could  do  no  other  when  my 
conscience  tells  me  that  I  never  can  be  tired  of  loving 
them  :  while,  with  the  best  will  in  the  world,  I  could  never 
do  more  than  try  hard  to  like  them.^ 

You  see,  I  go  wholly  upon  my  individual  likings  and 
distastes  :  that  other  considerations  should  have  their 
weight  with  other  people  is  natural  and  inevitable. 

Ever  truly  yours, 

Robert  Browning. 

'  By  "  them  "  Mr.  Browning  clearly  means  the  later  poems,  and 
probably  has  omitted  a  few  words  which  would  have  shown  this. 


838  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1863- 

Many  thanks  for  the  volume  just  received— that  with 
the  coiTespondence.  I  hope  that  you  restore  the  swan 
simile  so  ruthlessly  cut  away  from  "  Dion." 

In  1884  he  was  again  invited,  and  again  declined,  to 
stand  for  the  Lord  Rectorship  of  the  University  of  St. 
Andrews.  In  the  same  year  he  received  the  LL.D.  degree 
of  the  University  of  Edinburgh  ;  and  in  the  following 
was  made  Honorary  President  of  the  Associated  Societies 
of  that  city.^  During  the  few  days  spent  there  on  the 
occasion  of  his  investiture,  he  was  the  guest  of  Professor 
Masson,  whose  solicitous  kindness  to  him  is  still  warmly 
remembered  in  the  family. 

The  interest  in  Mr.  Browning  as  a  poet  is  beginning 
to  spread  in  Germany.  There  is  room  for  wonder  that  it 
should  not  have  done  so  before,  though  the  affinities  of 
his  genius  are  rather  with  the  older  than  with  the  more 
modern  German  mind.''  It  is  much  more  remarkable  that, 
many  years  ago,  his  work  had  already  a  sympathetic  ex- 
ponent in  Italy.  Signor  Nencioui,  Professor  of  Literature 
in  Florence,  had  made  his  acquaintance  at  Siena,  and  was 
possibly  first  attracted  to  him  through  his  wife,  although  I 
never  heard    that   it  was   so.      He   was   soon,   however, 

'  This  Association  was  instituted  in  1833,  and  is  a  union  of 
literary  and  debating  societies.  It  is  at  present  composed  of  five : 
the  Dialectic,  Scots  Law,  Diagnostic,  Philosophical,  and  Philo- 
mathic. 

^  [Since  this  was  written  there  has  been  a  considerable  develop- 
ment of  Browning-study — as  of  interest  in  other  English  literature — 
in  Germany.  As  examples  and  evidence  of  this,  reference  may  be 
made  to  the  translation  of  the  Letters  of  B.  B.  and  E.  B.  B.  by 
F.  P.  Greve,  and  articles  by  0.  Roloflf  (Potsdam,  1900)  and  Frau 
Marie  Gothein.] 


1885]  ROBERT   BROWNING  839 

fascinated  by  Mr.  Browning's  poetry,  and  made  it  an 
object  of  serious  study ;  he  largely  quoted  from,  and 
wrote  on  it,  in  the  Roman  paper  Fanfulla  della  Domenica, 
in  1881  and  1882  ;  and  pubHshed  in  January,  1890,  what 
is,  I  am  told,  an  excellent  article  on  the  same  subject, 
in  the  Nuova  Antologia.  Two  years  previously  he  travelled 
from  Rome  to  Venice  (accompanied  by  Signor  Placci), 
for  the  purpose  of  seeing  him.  He  was  fond  of  reciting 
passages  from  the  works,  and  even  made  attempts  at 
translation  :  though  he  understood  them  too  well  not  to 
pronounce  them,  what  they  are  for  every  Latin  language, 
untranslatable. 

In  1883  Mr.  Browning  added  another  link  to  the 
"  golden  "  chain  of  verse  which  united  England  and  Italy. 
A  statue  of  Gc-ldoni  was  about  to  be  erected  in  Venice. 
The  ceremonies  of  the  occasion  were  to  include  the  appear- 
ance of  a  volume — or  album — of  appropriate  poems  ;  and 
Cavaliere  Molmenti,  its  intending  editor,  a  leading  member 
of  the  "  Erection  Committee,"  begged  Mr.  Browning  to 
contribute  to  it.  It  was  also  desired  that  he  should  be 
present  at  the  unveiling.^  He  was  unable  to  grant  this 
request,  but  consented  to  write  a  poem.  This  sonnet 
to  Goldoni  also  deserves  to  be  more  widely  known,  both 
for  itself  and  for  the  manner  of  its  production.  Mr. 
Browning  had  forgotten,  or  not  understood,  how  soon  the 
promise  concerning  it  must  be  fulfilled,  and  it  was  actually 
Bcribbled  off  while  a  messenger,  sent  by  Signor  Molmenti, 
waited  for  it. 

'  It  was,  I  think,  during  this  visit  to  Venice  that  he  assisted  at  a 
no  less  interesting  ceremony :  the  unveiling  of  a  conxmemorativa 
tablet  to  Baldassare  Galuppi,  in  his  native  island  of  Burano. 


340  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [188*- 

Goldoni, — good,  gay,  sunniest  of  souls, — 

Glassing  half  Venice  in  that  verse  of  thine, — 

What  though  it  just  reflect  the  shade  and  shine 
Of  common  life,  nor  render,  as  it  rolls, 
Grandeur  and  gloom  ?     SufQcient  for  thy  shoals 

Was  Carnival :  Parini'a  depths  enshrine 

Secrets  unsuited  to  that  opaline 
Surface  of  things  which  laughs  along  thy  scrolls. 
There  throng  the  people  :  how  they  come  and  go. 

Lisp  the  soft  language,  flaunt  the  bright  garb, — see,— 
On  Piazza,  Calle,  under  Portico 

And  over  Bridge  !     Dear  king  of  Comedy, 
Be  honoured  !     Thou  that  didst  love  Venice  so, 

Venice,  and  we  who  love  her,  all  love  thee ! 
Venice,  Nov.  27,  1883. 

A  complete  bibliography  would  take  account  of  three 
other  sonnets,  The  Founder  of  the  Feast,  1884,  The  Names^ 
1884,  and  WJiy  I  am  a  Liberal,  1886,  to  which  I  shall 
have  occasion  to  refer  ;  but  we  decline  insensibly  from 
these  on  to  the  less  important  or  more  fugitive  productions 
which  such  lists  also  include,  and  on  which  it  is  unnecessary 
or  undesirable  that  any  stress  should  be  laid. 

In  1885  he  was  joined  in  Venice  by  his  son.  It  was 
"  Penini's  "  first  return  to  the  country  of  his  birth,  his  first 
experience  of  the  city  which  he  had  only  visited  in  his 
nurse's  arms  ;  and  his  delight  in  it  was  so  great  that  the  plan 
shaped  itself  in  his  father's  mind  of  buying  a  house  there, 
which  should  serve  as  pied-d-terre  for  the  family,  but  more 
especially  as  a  home  for  him.  Neither  the  health  nor  the 
energies  of  the  younger  Mr.  Browning  had  ever  withstood 
the  influence  of  the  London  climate  ;  a  foreign  element 
■was  undoubtedly  present  in  his  otherwise  thoroughly 
English  constitution.      Everything    now  pointed    to    hia 


1 


1885]  ROBERT  BROWNING  341 

settling  in  Italy,  and  pursuing  his  artist  life  there,  only 
interrupting  it  by  occasional  visits  to  London  and  Paris. 
His  father  entered  into  negotiations  for  the  Palazzo 
Manzoni,  next  door  to  the  former  Hotel  de  TUnivers  ; 
and  the  purchase  was  completed,  so  far  as  he  was  con- 
cerned, before  he  returned  to  England.  The  fact  is  related, 
and  his  own  position  towards  it  described,  in  a  letter  to 
Mrs.  Charles  Skirrow,  written  from  Venice. 

Palazzo  Giustiniani  Recanati,  S.  Moise:  Nov.  15,  '85. 

My  two  dear  friends  will  have  supposed,  with  plenty 
of  reason,  that  I  never  got  the  kind  letter  some  weeks  ago. 
When  it  came,  I  was  in  the  middle  of  an  affair,  conducted 
by  letters  of  quite  another  kind,  with  people  abroad :  and 
as  I  fancied  that  every  next  day  might  bring  me  news  very 
interesting  to  me  and  likely  to  be  worth  telling  to  the  dear 
friends,  I  waited  and  waited — and  only  two  days  since  did 
the  matter  come  to  a  satisfactory  conclusion — so,  as  the 
Irish  song  has  it,  "  Open  your  eyes  and  die  with  surprise  " 
when  I  inform  you  that  I  have  purchased  the  Manzoni 
Palace  here,  on  the  Canal  Grande,  of  its  owner,  Marchese 
Montecucculi,  an  Austrian  and  an  absentee — hence  the 
delay  of  communication.  I  did  this  purely  for  Pen — who 
became  at  once  simply  infatuated  with  the  city  which  won 
my  whole  heart  lontj  before  he  was  born  or  thought  of. 
I  secure  him  a  perfect  domicile,  every  facility  for  his 
painting  and  sculpture,  and  a  property  fairly  worth,  even 
here  and  now,  double  what  I  gave  for  it — such  is  the  virtue 
in  these  parts  of  ready  money  1  I  myself  shall  stick  to 
London — which  has  been  so  eminently  good  and  gracious 
to  me — so  long  as  God  permits ;  only,  when  the  inevitable 
outrage  of  Time  gets  the  better  of  my  body — (I  shall  not 
believe  in  his  reaching  my  soul  and  proper  self) — there 


342  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1884- 

will  be  a  capital  retreat  provided  :  and  meantime  I  shall 
be  able  to  "  take  mine  ease  in  mine  own  inn  "  whenever  so 
minded.  Tijere,  my  dear  friends  !  I  trust  now  to  be  able 
to  leave  very  shorLly  ;  the  main  business  cannot  be  formally 
conclud"d  before  two  months  at  least — through  the  absence 
of  the  Marchese, — who  left  at  once  to  return  to  his  duties 
as  commander  of  an  Austrian  ship ;  but  the  necessiry 
engagement  to  sell  and  buy  at  a  specified  price  is  made  in 
due  legal  form,  and  the  papers  will  be  sent  to  me  in  London 
for  signature.  I  hope  to  get  away  the  week  after  next  at 
latest, — spite  of  the  weather  in  England  which  to-day's 
letters  report  as  "  atrocious," — and  ours,  though  variable, 
is  in  the  main  very  tolerable  and  sometimes  perfect ;  for 
all  that,  I  yearn  to  be  at  home  in  poor  Warwick  Crescent, 
which  must  do  its  best  to  make  me  forget  my  new  abode. 
I  forget  you  don't  know  Venice.  "Well  then,  the  Palazzo 
Manzoni  is  situate  on  the  Grand  Canal,  and  is  described  by 
Euskin, — to  give  no  other  authority, — as  "  a  perfect  and 
very  rich  example  of  Byzantine  Renaissance  :  its  warm 
yellow  marbles  are  magnificent."  And  again — "  an  ex- 
quisite example  (of  Byzantine  Renaissance)  as  applied  to 
domestic  architecture."  So  testify  the  "  Stones  of  Venice." 
But  we  will  talk  about  the  place,  over  a  photograph,  when 
I  am  happy  enough  to  be  with  you  again. 

Of  Venetian  gossip  there  is  next  to  none.  We  had  an 
admirable  Venetian  Company, — using  the  dialect, — at  the 
Goldoni  Theatre.  The  acting  of  Zago,  in  his  various  parts, 
and  Zenon-Palladini,  in  her  especial  character  of  a  Venetian 
piece  of  volubility  and  impulsiveness  in  the  shape  of  a 
servant,  were  admirable  indeed.  The  manager,  Gallina, 
is  a  playwright  of  much  reputation,  and  gave  us  some 
dozen  of  his  own  pieces,  mostly  good  and  clever.  S.  is 
very  well, — much  improved  in  health  :  we  walk  sufficiently 
in  this  city  where  walking  is  accounted  impossible  by  thos6 


18851  ROBERT   BROWNING  343 

who  never  attempt  it.  Have  I  tried  your  good  temper  ? 
No !  you  ever  wished  me  well,  and  I  love  you  both  with 
my  whole  heart.  S.'s  love  goes  with  mine — who  am  ever 
yours 

Robert  Beowning. 

He  never,  however,  owned  the  Manzoni  Palace.  The 
Austrian  gentlemen^  whose  property  it  was,  put  forward, 
at  the  last  moment,  unexpected  and  to  his  mind  un- 
reasonable claims ;  and  he  was  preparing  to  contest  the 
position,  when  a  timely  warning  induced  him  to  withdraw 
from  it  altogether.  The  warning  proceeded  from  his  son, 
who  had  remained  on  the  spot,  and  was  now  informed  on 
competent  authority  that  the  foundations  of  the  house  were 
insecure. 

In  the  early  summer  of  1884,  and  again  in  1886,  Misa 
Browning  had  a  serious  illness  ;  and  though  she  recovered, 
in  each  case  completely  and  in  the  first  rapidly,  it  was  con- 
sidered desirable  that  she  should  not  travel  so  far  as  usual 
from  home.  She  and  her  brother  therefore  accepted  for 
the  August  and  September  of  1884  the  urgent  invitation  of 
an  American  friend,  Mrs.  Bloomfield  Moore,  to  stay  with 
her  at  a  villa  which  she  rented  for  some  seasons  at  St.- 
Moritz.  Mr.  Browning  was  delighted  with  the  Engadine, 
where  the  circumstances  of  his  abode,  and  the  thoughtful 
kindness  of  his  hostess,  allowed  him  to  enjoy  the  benefits 
of  comparative  civilization  together  with  almost  perfect 
repose.  The  weather  that  year  was  brilliant  until  the  end 
of  September,  if  not  beyond  it ;  and  his  letters  tell  the  old 
pleasant  story  of  long  daily  walks  and  a  general  sense  of 

*  Two  or  three  brothers. 


344  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1884- 

invigoration.  One  of  these,  written  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Skirrow,  also  contains  some  pungent  remarks  on  con- 
temporary events,  with  an  affectionate  allusion  to  one  of 
the  chief  actors  in  them. 

"  Anyhow,  I  have  the  sincerest  hope  that  Wolseley  may 
get  done  as  soon,  and  kill  as  few  people,  as  possible, — 
keeping  himself  safe  and  sound — brave  dear  fellow — for  the 
benefit  of  us  all." 

He  also  speaks  with  great  sympathy  of  the  death  of  Mr. 
Charles  Sartoris,  which  had  just  taken  place  at  St.-Moritz. 

In  1886,  Miss  Browning  was  not  allowed  to  leave 
England ;  and  she  and  Mr.  Browning  established  them- 
selves for  the  autumn  at  the  Hand  Hotel  at  Llangollen, 
where  their  old  friends.  Sir  Theodore  and  Lady  Martin, 
would  be  within  easy  reach.  Mr.  Browning  missed  the 
exhilarating  effects  of  the  Alpine  air  ;  but  he  enjoyed  the 
peaceful  beauty  of  the  Welsh  valley,  and  the  quiet  and 
comfort  of  the  old-fashioned  English  inn.  A  new  source 
of  interest  also  presented  itself  to  him  in  some  aspects  of 
the  life  of  the  English  country  gentleman.  He  was  struck 
by  the  improvements  effected  by  its  actual  owner  ^  on  a 
neighbouring  estate,  and  by  the  provisions  contained  in 
them  for  the  comfort  of  both  the  men  and  the  animals 
under  his  care ;  and  he  afterwards  made,  in  reference  to 
them,  what  was,  for  a  professing  Liberal,  a  very  striking 
remark  :  "  Talk  of  abolishing  that  class  of  men  I  They 
are  the  salt  of  the  earth  I "  Every  Sunday  afternoon  he 
and  his  sister  drank  tea — weather  permitting — on  the 
lawn   with   their   friends   at   Bryntysilio  ;  and  he  alludes 

*  I  believe  a  Captain  Best  [no  doubt,  Capt.  J.  Best,  of  Vivod]. 


18861  ROBERT   BROWNING  345 

gracefully  to  these  meetings  in  a  letter  written  in  the  early 
Bummer  of  1888,  when  Lady  Martin  had  urged  him  bo 
return  to  Wales, 

The  poet  left  another  and  more  pathetic  remembrance 
of  himself  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Llangollen :  his 
weekly  presence  at  the  afternoon  Sunday  service  in  the 
parish  church  of  Llantysilio.  Churchgoing  was,  as  I  have 
said,  no  part  of  his  regular  life.  It  was  no  part  of  his  life 
in  London.  But  I  do  not  think  he  ever  failed  in  it  at  the 
Universities  or  in  the  country.  The  assembling  for  prayer 
meant  for  him  something  deeper  in  both  the  religious  and 
the  human  sense,  where  ancient  learning  and  piety  breathed 
through  the  consecrated  edifice,  or  where  only  the  figurative 
"  two  or  three  "  were  "  gathered  together  "  within  it.  A 
memorial  tablet  now  marks  the  spot  at  which  on  this 
occasion  the  sweet  grave  face  and  the  venerable  head  were 
so  often  seen.  It  has  been  placed  by  the  direction  of  Lady 
Martin  on  the  adjoining  wall. 

It  was  in  the  September  of  this  year  that  Mr.  Browning 
heard  of  the  death  of  M.  Joseph  Milsand.  This  name 
represented  for  him  one  of  the  few  close  friendships  which 
were  to  remain  until  the  end,  unclouded  in  fact  and  in 
remembrance  ;  and  although  some  weight  may  be  given 
to  those  circumstances  of  their  lives  which  precluded  all 
possibility  of  friction  and  risk  of  disenchantment,  I  believe 
their  rooted  sympathy  and  Mr.  Browning's  unfailing 
powers  of  appreciation  would,  in  all  possible  cases,  have 
maintained  the  bond  intact.  The  event  was  at  the  last 
Budden,  but  happily  not  quite  unexpected. 

Many  other  friends  had  passed  by  this  time  out  of  the 
poet's  life — those  of  a  younger,  as  well  as  his  own  and  an 


346  LIFE   AND   LETIERS   OF  [1886- 

older  generation.  Miss  Haworth  died  in  1883.  Charles 
Dickens,  with  whom  he  had  remained  on  the  most  cordial 
terms,  had  walked  between  him  and  his  son  at  Thackeray's 
funeral,  to  receive  from  him,  only  seven  years  later,  the 
same  pious  office.  Lady  Augusta  Stanley,  the  daughter  of 
his  old  friend.  Lady  Elgin,  was  dead,  and  her  husband,  the 
Dean  of  "Westminster.  So  also  were  "  Barry  Cornwall " 
and  John  Forster,  Alfred  Domett  and  Thomas  Carlyle, 
Mr.  Cholmondeley  and  Lord  Houghton ;  others  still,  both 
men  and  women,  whose  love  for  him  might  entitle  them  to 
a  place  in  his  Biography,  but  whom  I  could  at  most  only 
mention  by  name. 

For  none  of  these  can  his  feeling  have  been  more 
constant  or  more  disinterested  than  that  which  bound  him 
to  Carlyle.  He  visited  him  at  Chelsea  in  the  last  weary 
days  of  his  long  life,  as  often  as  their  distance  from  each 
other  and  his  own  engagements  allowed.  Even  the  man's 
posthumous  self-disclosures  scarcely  availed  to  destroy  the 
affectionate  reverence  which  he  had  always  felt  for  him. 
He  never  ceased  to  defend  him  against  the  charge  of 
unkindness  to  his  wife,  or  to  believe  that  in  the  matter  of 
their  domestic  unhappiness  she  was  the  more  responsible  of 
the  two.^  Yet  Carlyle  had  never  rendered  him  that  service, 
easy  as  it  appears,  which  one  man  of  letters  most  justly 

•  He  always  thought  her  a  hard  and  unlovable  woman,  and  I 
believe  little  liking  was  lost  between  them.  He  told  a  comical  story 
of  how  he  had  once,  unintentionally  but  rather  stupidly,  annoyed  her. 
She  had  asked  him,  as  he  was  standing  by  her  tea-table,  to  put  the 
kettle  back  on  the  fire.  He  took  it  out  of  her  hands,  but,  preoccupied 
by  the  conversation  he  was  carrying  on,  deposited  it  on  the  hearth- 
rug. It  was  some  time  before  he  could  be  made  to  see  that  this  was 
Wrong ;  and  he  believed  Mrs.  Carlyle  never  ceased  to  think  that  ho 
had  a  mischievous  motive  for  doing  it. 


1887]  KOBEllT   BROWNING  347 

values  from  another :  that  of  proclaiming  the  admiration 
which  he  privately  expressed  for  his  works.  The  fact  was 
incomprehensible  to  Mr.  Browning — it  was  so  foreign  to  his 
own  nature  ;  and  he  commented  on  it  with  a  touch,  though 
merely  a  touch,  of  bitterness,  when  repeating  to  a  friend 
some  almost  extravagant  eulogium  which  in  earlier  days  he 
had  received  from  him  tete-d-tete.  "  If  only,"  he  said, 
"  those  words  had  been  ever  repeated  in  public,  what  good 
they  might  have  done  me  1 " 

In  the  spring  of  1886,  he  accepted  the  post  of  Foreign 
Correspondent  to  the  Eoyal  Academy,  rendered  vacant  by 
the  death  of  Lord  Houghton.  He  had  long  been  on  very 
friendly  terms  with  the  leading  Academicians,  and  a 
constant  gue-t  at  the  Banquet  ;  and  his  fitness  for  the 
office  admitted  of  no  doubt.  But  his  nomination  by  the 
President,  and  the  manner  in  which  it  was  ratified  by  the 
Council  and  general  body,  gave  him  sincere  pleasure. 

Early  in  1887,  the  ParUyings  appeared.  Their  author 
is  still  the  same  Robert  Browning,  though  here  and  there 
visibly  touched  by  the  hand  of  time.  Passages  of  sweet  or 
majestic  music,  or  of  exquisite  fancy,  alternate  with  its 
long  stretches  of  argumentative  thought ;  and  the  light  of 
imagination  still  plays,  however  fitfully,  over  statements  of 
opinion  to  which  constant  repetition  has  given  a  suggestion 
of  commonplace.  But  the  revision  of  the  work  caused  him 
unusual  trouble.  The  subjects  he  had  chosen  strained  his 
powers  of  exposition  ;  and  I  think  he  often  tried  to  remedy 
by  mere  verbal  correction,  what  was  a  defect  in  the  logical 
arrangement  of  his  ideas.  They  would  slide  into  each 
other  where  a  visible  dividing  line  was  required.  The  last 
itage  of  his  life  was  now  at  hand  ;  and  the  vivid  return 


348  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1887 

of  fancy  to  his  boyhood's  literary  loves  was  in  pathetic, 
perhaps  not  quite  accidental,  coincidence  with  the  fact.  It 
will  be  well  to  pause  at  this  beginning  of  his  decline,  and 
recall  so  far  as  possible  the  image  of  the  man  who  lived, 
and  worked,  and  loved,  and  was  loved  among  us,  during 
that  brief  old  age,  and  the  lengthened  period  of  level 
strength  which  had  preceded  it.  The  record  already  given 
of  his  life  and  work  supplies  the  outline  of  the  picture ; 
but  a  few  more  personal  details  are  required  for  its 
completion. 


I 


ROBERT  BROWNING  S49 


CHAPTER  XXr. 

Constancy  to  Habit — Optimism — Belief  in  Providence— Political 
Opinions — His  Friendships — Reverence  for  Genius — Attitude 
towards  his  Public — Attitude  towards  his  Work — Habits  of 
Work  — His  Reading — Conversational  Powers — Impulsiveness 
and  Reserve — Nervous  Peculiarities — His  Benevolence — His 
Attitude  towards  Women. 

When  Mr.  Browning  wrote  to  Miss  Haworth,  in  the  July  of 
1861,  he  had  said  :  "  I  shall  still  grow,  I  hope  ;  but  my  root 
is  taken,  and  remains."  He  was  then  alluding  to  a  special 
offshoot  of  feeling  and  association,  on  the  permanence  of 
which  it  is  not  now  necessary  to  dwell ;  but  it  is  certain 
that  he  continued  growing  up  to  a  late  age,  and  that  the 
development  was  only  limited  by  those  general  roots,  those 
fixed  conditions  of  his  being,  which  had  predetermined  its 
form.  This  progressive  intellectual  vitality  is  amply 
represented  in  his  works  ;  it  also  reveals  itself  in  his  letters 
in  so  far  as  they  remain  and  are  accessible.  I  only  refer  to 
it  to  give  emphasis  to  a  contrasted  or  corresponding 
characteristic  :  his  aversion  to  every  thought  of  change.  I 
have  spoken  of  his  constancy  to  all  degrees  of  friendship 
and  love.  What  he  loved  once  he  loved  always,  from  the 
dearest  man  or  woman  to  whom  his  allegiance  had  been 
given,  to  the  humblest  piece  of  furniture  which  had  served 
him.     It  was  equally  true  that  what  he  had  done  once  he 


350  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

was  wont,  for  that  very  reason,  to  continue  doing.  The 
devotion  to  habits  of  feeling  extended  to  habits  of  life  ;  and 
although  the  lower  constancy  generally  served  the  purposes 
of  the  higher,  it  also  sometimes  clashed  with  them.  It  con- 
spired with  his  ready  kindness  of  heart  to  make  him  subject 
to  circumstances  which  at  first  appealed  to  him  through  that 
kindness,  but  lay  really  beyond  its  scope.  This  statement, 
it  is  true,  can  only  fully  apply  to  the  latter  part  of  his  life. 
His  powers  of  reaction  must  originally  have  been  stronger, 
as  well  as  freer  from  the  paralysis  of  conflicting  motive  and 
interest.  The  marked  shrinking  from  effort  in  any  untried 
direction,  which  was  often  another  name  for  his  stability, 
could  scarcely  have  co-existed  with  the  fresher  and  more 
curious  interest  in  men  and  things  ;  we  know  indeed  from 
recorded  facts  that  it  was  a  feeling  of  later  growth  ;  and  it 
visibly  increased  with  the  periodical  nervous  exhaustion  of 
his  advancing  years.  I  am  convinced,  nevertheless,  that, 
when  the  restiveness  of  boyhood  had  passed  away,  Mr. 
Browning's  strength  was  always  more  passive  than  active  ; 
that  he  habitually  made  the  best  of  external  conditions 
rather  than  tried  to  change  them.  He  was  a  "fighter" 
only  by  the  brain.  And  on  this  point,  though  on  this 
only,  his  work  is  misleading. 

The  acquiescent  tendency  arose  in  some  degree  from 
two  equally  prominent  characteristics  of  Mr.  Browning's 
nature  :  his  optimism,  and  his  behef  in  direct  Providence  ; 
and  these  again  represented  a  condition  of  mind  which  was 
in  certain  respects  a  quality,  but  must  in  others  be 
recognized  as  a  defect.  It  disposed  him  too  much  to  make 
a  virtue  of  happiness.  It  tended  also  to  the  ignoring 
or   denying   of  many  incidental  possibilities,   and  many 


ROBERT  BROWNING  351 

standing  problems  of  human  suffering.  The  first  part  of  this 
assertion  is  illustrated  by  The  Two  Poets  of  Croisic,  in 
which  Mr.  Browning  declares  that,  other  conditions  being 
equal,  the  greater  poet  will  have  been  he  who  led  the 
happier  life,  who  most  completely — and  we  must  take  this 
in  the  human  as  well  as  religious  sense — triumphed  over 
suffering.  The  second  has  its  proof  in  the  contempt  for 
poetic  melancholy  which  flashes  from  the  supposed  utterance 
of  Shakespeare  in  At  the  Mermaid ;  its  negative  justification 
in  the  whole  range  of  his  work. 

Such  facts  may  be  hard  to  reconcile  with  others 
already  known  of  Mr.  Browning's  nature,  or  already  stated 
concerning  it ;  but  it  is  in  the  depths  of  that  nature  that 
the  solution  of  this,  as  of  more  than  one  other  anomaly, 
must  be  sought.  It  is  true  that  remembered  pain  dwelt 
longer  with  him  than  remembered  pleasure.  It  is  true 
that  the  last  great  sorrow  of  his  life  was  long  felt  and 
cherished  by  him  as  a  religion,  and  that  it  entered  as  such 
into  the  courage  with  which  he  first  confronted  it.  It  is 
no  less  true  that  he  directly  and  increasingly  cultivated 
happiness  ;  and  that  because  of  certain  sufferings  which 
had  been  connected  with  them,  he  would  often  have  refused 
to  live  his  happiest  days  again. 

It  seems  still  harder  to  associate  defective  human 
sympathy  with  his  kind  heart  and  large  dramatic  imagina- 
tion, though  that  very  imagination  was  an  important 
factor  in  the  case.  It  forbade  the  collective  and  mathe- 
matical estimate  of  human  suffering,  which  is  so  much  in 
favour  with  modern  philanthropy,  and  so  untrue  a  measure 
for  the  individual  life  ;  and  he  indirectly  condemns  it  in 
FerishtaK's  Fancies  in  the  parable  of  Bean  Stripes.    But  his 


352  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

dominant  individuality  also  barred  the  recognition  of  any 
judgement  or  impression,  any  thought  or  feeling,  which  did 
not  justify  itself  from  his  own  point  of  view.  The  barrier 
would  melt  under  the  influence  of  a  sympathetic  mood,  as  it 
would  stiffen  in  the  atmosphere  of  disagreement.  It  would 
yield,  as  did  in  his  case  so  many  other  things,  to  continued 
indirect  pressure,  whether  from  his  love  of  justice,  the 
strength  of  his  attachments,  or  his  power  of  imaginative 
absorption.  But  he  was  bound  by  the  conditions  of  an 
essentially  creative  nature.  The  subjectiveness,  if  I  may 
for  once  use  that  hackneyed  word,  had  passed  out  of  his 
work  only  to  root  itself  more  strongly  in  his  life.  He  was 
self-centred,  as  the  creative  nature  must  inevitably  be. 
He  appeared,  for  this  reason,  more  widely  sympathetic  in 
his  works  than  in  his  life,  though  even  in  the  former 
certain  grounds  of  vicarious  feeling  remained  untouched. 
The  sympathy  there  displayed  was  creative  and  obeyed  its 
own  law.  That  wh'ch  was  demanded  from  him  by  reality 
■was  responsive,  and  implied  submission  to  the  law  of  other 
minds. 

Such  intellectual  egotism  is  unconnected  with  moral 
selfishness,  though  it  often  unconsciously  does  its  work. 
Were  it  otherwise,  I  should  have  passed  over  in  silence  this 
aspect,  comprehensive  though  it  is,  of  Mr.  Browning's 
character.  He  was  capable  of  the  largest  self-sacrifice  and 
of  the  smallest  self-denial  ;  and  would  exercise  either 
whenever  love  or  duty  clearly  pointed  the  way.  He  would, 
he  believed,  cheerfully  have  done  so  at  the  command, 
however  arbitrary,  of  a  Higher  Power ;  he  often  spoke  of 
the  absence  of  such  injunction,  whether  to  endurance  or 
action,  as  the  great  theoretical  difficulty  of  life  for  those 


ROBERT  BROWNING  353 

who,  like  himself,  rejected  or  questioned  the  dogmatic 
teachings  of  Christianity.  This  does  not  mean  that  he 
ignored  the  traditional  moralities  which  have  so  largely 
taken  their  place.  They  coincided  in  great  measure  with 
his  own  instincts  ;  and  few  occasions  could  have  arisen  in 
which  they  would  not  be  to  him  a  sufficient  guide.  I  may 
add,  though  this  is  a  digression,  that  he  never  admitted 
the  right  of  genius  to  defy  them  ;  when  such  a  right  had 
once  been  claimed  for  it  in  his  presence,  he  rejoined 
quickly,  "  That  is  an  error  I  NohUsse  ohJige.''''  But  he  had 
difficulty  in  acknowledging  any  abstract  law  which  did  not 
derive  from  a  Higher  Power  ;  and  this  fact  may  have  been 
at  once  cause  and  consequence  of  the  special  conditions  of 
his  own  mind.  All  human  or  conventional  obligation 
appeals  finally  to  the  individual  judgement ;  and  in  his  case 
this  could  easily  be  obscured  by  the  always  militant 
imagination,  in  regard  to  any  subject  in  which  his  feelins:s 
were  even  indirectly  concerned.  No  one  saw  more  justly 
than  he,  when  the  object  of  vision  was  general  or  remote. 
Whatever  entered  his  personal  atmosphere  encountered  a 
refracting  medium  in  which  objects  were  decomposed,  and 
a  succession  of  details,  each  held  as  it  were  close  to  the 
eye,  blocked  out  the  larger  view. 

We  have  seen,  on  the  other  hand,  that  he  accepted 
imperfect  knowledge  as  part  of  the  discipline  of  experience. 
It  detracted  in  no  sense  from  his  conviction  of  direct 
relations  with  the  Creator.  This  was  indeed  the  central 
fact  of  his  theology,  as  the  absolute  individual  existence 
had  been  the  central  fact  of  his  metaphysics  ;  and  when  he 
described  the  fatal  leap  in  Red  Cotton  Nightcap  Country  as 
a  frantic  appeal  to  the  Higher  Powers  for  the  "  sign  "  which 

2  A 


354  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF 

the  man's  religion  did  not  afford,  and  his  nature  could  not 
Bupply,  a  sp2cial  dramatic  sympathy  was  at  work  within 
him.  The  third  part  of  the  epilogue  to  Dramatis  PersoncR 
represented  his  own  creed  ;  though  this  was  often  accen- 
tuated in  the  sense  of  a  more  personal  privilege,  and  a 
perhaps  less  poetic  mystery,  than  the  poem  conveys.  The 
Evangelical  Christian  and  the  subjective  idealist  philosopher 
were  curiously  blended  in  his  composition. 

The  transition  seems  violent  from  this  old-world 
religion  to  any  system  of  politics  applicable  to  the  present 
day.  They  were,  nevertheless,  closely  allied  in  Mr.  Brown- 
ing's mind.  His  politics  were,  so  far  as  they  went,  the 
practical  aspect  of  his  religion.  Their  cardinal  doctrine 
was  the  liberty  of  individual  growth  ;  removal  of  every 
barrier  of  prejudice  or  convention  by  which  it  might  still 
be  checked.  He  had  been  a  Radical  in  youth,  and  probably 
in  early  manhood  ;  he  remained,  in  the  truest  sense  of  the 
word,  a  Liberal ;  and  his  position  as  such  was  defined  in 
the  sonnet  prefixed  in  1886  to  Mr.  Andrew  Reid's  essay, 
"  Why  I  am  a  Liberal,"  and  bearing  the  same  name.  Its 
profession  of  faith  did  not,  however,  necessarily  bind  him 
to  any  political  party.  It  separated  him  from  all  the 
newest  developments  of  so-called  Liberalism.  He  respected 
the  rights  of  property.  He  was  a  true  patriot,  hating  to 
see  his  country  plunged  into  aggressive  wars,  but  tenacious 
of  her  position  among  the  empires  of  the  world.  He  was 
also  a  passionate  Unionist ;  althorgh  the  question  of  our 
pohtical  relations  with  Ireland  weighed  less  with  him,  as  it 
has  done  with  so  many  others,  than  those  considerations  of 
law  and  order,  of  honesty  and  humanity,  which  have  been 
trampled   under  foot  in  the  name  of  Home  Rule.     It 


ROBERT  BROWNING  355 

grieved  and  surprised  him  to  find  himself  on  this  subject  at 
issue  with  so  many  valued  friends  ;  and  no  pain  of  Lost 
Leadership  was  ever  more  angry  or  more  intense,  than  that 

(which  came  to  him  through  the  defection  of  a  great 
.,  statesman  whom  he  had  honoured  and  loved,  from  what  he 
•  believed  to  be  the  right  cause. 

The  character  of  Mr.  Browning's  friendships  reveals 
itself  in  great  measure  in  even  a  simple  outline  of  his  life. 
His  first  friends  of  his  own  sex  were  almost  exclusively  men 
of  letters,  by  taste  if  not  by  profession  ;  *  the  circumstances 
of  his  entrance  into  society  made  this  a  matter  of  course.  In 
..  later  years  he  associated  on  cordial  terms  with  men  of  very 
I  various  interests  and  professions  ;  and  only  writers  of  con- 
spicuous merit,  whether  in  prose  or  poetry,  attracted  him  as 
such.  No  intercourse  was  more  congenial  to  him  than  that 
of  the  higher  class  of  English  clergymen.  He  sympathized  in 
their  beliefs  even  when  he  did  not  share  them.  Above  all 
he  loved  their  culture  ;  and  the  love  of  culture  in  general, 
of  its  old  classic  forms  in  particular,  was  as  strong  in  him  as 
if  it  had  been  formed  by  all  the  natural  and  conventional 
associations  of  a  university  career.  He  had  hearty  friends 
and  appreciators  among  the  dignitaries  of  the  Church — 
successive  Archbishops  and  Bishops,  Deans  of  Westminster 
and  St.  Paul's.  They  all  knew  the  value  of  the  great  free- 
lance who  fought  like  the  gods  of  old  with  the  regular 
army.  No  name,  however,  has  been  mentioned  in  the  poet's 
family  more  frequently  or  with  more  affection  than  that 
of  the  Rev.  J.  D.  W.  Williams,  Vicar  of  Bottisham  in 

•  [This  is  true  of  the  two  men  who  probably  took  the  first  place  iu 
the  circle  of  his  early  friends,  Domett  and  Arnould;  but  it  is  aa 
over-statement  as  regards  that  circle  in  general.] 


356  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF 

Cambridgeshire.  The  mutual  acquaintance,  which  waa 
made  through  Mr.  Browning's  brother-in-law,  Mr.  George 
Moulton-Barrett,  was  prepared  by  Mr.  Williams'  great  love 
for  his  poems,  of  which  he  translated  many  into  Latin  and 
Greek  ;  but  I  am  convinced  that  Mr.  Browning's  delight  in 
his  friend's  classical  attainments  was  quite  as  great  as  his 
gratification  in  the  tribute  he  himself  derived  from  them. 

His  love  of  genius  was  a  worship  :  and  in  this  we  must 
include  his  whole  life.  Nor  was  it,  as  this  feeling  so  often 
is,  exclusively  exercised  upon  the  past.  I  do  not  suppose 
his  more  eminent  contemporaries  ever  quite  knew  how 
generous  his  enthusiasm  for  them  had  been,  how  free  fro:u 
any  under-current  of  envy,  or  impulse  to  avoidable  criticism. 
He  could  not  endure  even  just  censure  of  one  whom  he 
believed,  or  had  believed  to  be  great.  I  have  seen  him 
wince  under  it,  though  no  third  person  was  present,  and 
heard  him  answer,  "  Don't !  doa't !  "  as  if  physical  pain 
were  being  inflicted  on  him.  In  the  early  days  he  would 
make  his  friend,  M.  de  Monclar,  draw  for  him  from  memory 
the  likenesses  of  famous  writers  whom  he  had  known 
in  Paris ;  the  sketches  thus  made  of  George  Sand  and 
Victor  Hugo  are  still  in  the  poet's  family.  A  still  more 
striking  and  very  touching  incident  refers  to  one  of  the 
winters,  probably  the  second,  which  he  spent  in  Paris.  He 
was  one  day  walking  with  little  Pen,  when  Beranger  came 
in  sight,  and  he  bade  the  child  "  run  up  to  "  or  "  run  past 
that  gentleman,  and  put  his  hand  for  a  moment  upon  him." 
This  was  a  great  man,  he  aftarwards  explained,  and  he 
wished  his  son  to  be  able  by-and-by  to  say  that  if  he  had 
not  known,  he  had  at  all  events  touched  him.  Scientific 
genius  ranked  with  him  only  second  to  the  poetical. 


ROBERT  BROWNING  357 

Mr.  Browning's  delicate  professional  sympathies  Justified 
lome  sensitiveness  on  his  own  account ;  but  he  was,  I  am 
convinced,  as  free  from  this  quality  as  a  man  with  a  poet- 
nature  could  possibly  be.  It  may  seem  hazardous  to  con- 
jecture how  serious  criticism  would  have  affected  him.  Few 
men  so  much  "  reviewed  "  have  experienced  so  little.  He 
was  by  turns  derided  or  ignored,  enthusiastically  praised, 
zealously  analyzed  and  interpreted  :  but  the  independent 
judgement  which  could  embrace  at  once  the  quality  of  his 
mind  and  its  defects,  was  almost  absent — had  been  so  at  all 
events  during  later  years — from  the  volumes  which  had 
been  written  about  him.  I  am  convinced,  nevertheless,  that 
ae  would  have  accepted  serious,  even  adverse  criticism,  if  it 
had  borne  the  impress  of  unbiassed  thought  and  genuine 
sincerity.  It  could  not  be  otherwise  with  one  in  whom  the 
power  of  reverence  was  so  strongly  marked. 

He  asked  but  one  thing  of  his  reviewers,  as  he  asked 
but  one  thing  of  his  larger  public.  The  first  demand  is  indi- 
cated in  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Frank  Hill,  of  January  31, 1884. 

Dear  Mrs.  Hill, — Could  you  befriend  me  ?  The 
"  Century "  prints  a  little  insignificance  of  mine — an 
impromptu  sonnet — but  prints  it  correctly.  The  "Pall 
Mall  "  pleases  to  extract  it — and  produces  what  I  enclose: 
one  line  left  out,  and  a  note  of  admiration  (!)  turned  into 
an  I,  and  a  superfluous  "  the  "  stuck  in — all  these  blunders 
with  the  correctly  printed  text  before  it  I  So  does  the 
charge  of  unintelligibility  attach  itself  to  your  poor  friend 
— who  can  kick  nobody. 

Robert  Browning. 

The  carelessness  often  shown  in  the  most  friendly  quota- 
tion could  hardly  be  absent  from  that  which  was  intended 


358  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

to  support  a  hostile  view  ;  and  the  only  injustice  of  which 
he  ever  complained,  was  what  he  spoke  of  as  falsely  con- 
demning him  out  of  his  own  mouth.  He  used  to  say  :  "  If 
a  critic  declares  that  any  poem  of  mine  is  unintelligible,  the 
reader  may  go  to  it  and  judge  for  himself ;  but,  if  it  is 
made  to  appear  unintelligible  by  a  passage  extracted  from  it 
and  distorted  by  misprints,  I  have  no  redress."  He  also 
failed  to  realize  those  conditions  of  thought,  and  still  more 
of  expression,  which  made  him  often  on  first  reading 
difficult  to  understand  ;  and  as  the  younger  generation  of 
his  admirers  often  deny  those  difficulties  where  they  exist, 
as  emphatically  as  their  grandfathers  proclaimed  them 
where  they  did  not,  pubhc  opinion  gave  him  little  help  in 
the  matter. 

The  second  (unspoken)  request  was  in  some  sense  an 
antithesis  to  the  first.  Mr.  Browning  desired  to  be  read 
accurately  but  not  literally.  He  deprecated  the  constant 
habit  of  reading  him  into  his  work  ;  whether  in  search  of 
the  personal  meaning  of  a  given  passage  or  poem,  or  in  the 
light  of  a  foregone  conclusion  as  to  what  that  meaning  must 
be.  The  latter  process  was  that  generally  prefeiTed,  because 
the  individual  mind  naturally  seeks  its  own  reflection  in  the 
poet's  work,  as  it  does  in  the  facts  of  nature.  It  was 
stimulated  by  the  investigations  of  the  Browning  Societies, 
and  by  the  partial  famiharity  with  his  actual  life  which 
constantly  supplied  tempting,  if  untrustworthy  clues.  It 
grew  out  of  the  strong  personal  as  well  as  literary  interest 
which  he  inspired.  But  the  tendency  to  listen  in  his 
work  for  a  single  recurrent  note  always  struck  him  as 
analogous  to  the  inspection  of  a  picture  gallery  with  eyes 
blind  to  every  colour  but  one  ;  and  the  act  of  sympathy 


ROBERT  BROWNING  359 

i  often  involved  in  this  mode  of  judgement  was  neutralized 
for  him  by  the  limitation  of  his  genius  which  it  pre- 
supposed. His  general  objection  to  be  identified  with  his 
works  is  set  forth  in  At  the  Mermaid,  and  other  poems  of 
i  the  same  volume,  in  which  it  takes  the  form  of  a  rather 
1  captious  protest  against  inferring  from  the  poet  any  habit 
or  quality  of  the  man  ;  and  where  also,  under  the  impulse 
of  the  dramatic  mood,  he  enforces  the  lesson  by  saying 
more  than  he  can  possibly  mean.  His  readers  might  object 
that  his  human  personality  was  so  often  plainly  revealed 
in  his  poetic  utterance  (whether  or  not  that  of  Shakespeare 
was),  and  so  often  also  avowed  by  it,  that  the  line  which 
divided  them  became  impossible  to  draw.  Bat  he  again 
would  have  rejoined  that  the  Poet  could  never  express 
himseK  with  any  large  freedom,  unless  a  fiction  of  im- 
personality were  granted  to  him.  He  might  also  have 
alleged,  he  often  did  allege,  that  in  his  case  the  fiction 
would  hold  a  great  deal  of  truth ;  since,  except  in  the 
rarest  cases,  the  very  fact  of  poetic,  above  all  of  dramatic 
reproduction,  detracts  from  the  reality  of  the  thought  or 
feeling  reproduced.  It  introduces  the  alloy  of  fancy  with- 
out which  the  fixed  outKnes  of  even  living  experience  cannot 
be  welded  into  poetic  form.  He  claimed,  in  short,  that  in 
judging  of  his  work,  one  should  allow  for  the  action  in  it 
of  the  constructive  imagination,  in  the  exercise  of  which 
all  deeper  poetry  consists.  The  form  of  literalism,  which 
showed  itself  in  seeking  historical  authority  for  every 
character  or  incident  which  he  employed  by  way  of  illus- 
tration, was  especially  irritating  to  him. 

I  may  (as  indeed  I  must)  concede  this  much,  without 
impugning  either  the  pleasure  or  the  gratitude  with  which 


380  LIFE  AND   LETTERS   OF 

he  recognized  the  increasing  interest  in  his  poems,  and, 
if  sometimes  exhibited  in  a  mistaken  form,  the  growing 
appreciation  of  them. 

There  was  another  and  more  striking  peculiarity  in 
Mr.  Browning's  attitude  towards  his  works  :  his  constant 
conviction  that  the  latest  must  be  the  best,  becau.=e  the 
outcome  of  the  fullest  mental  experience,  and  of  the  longest 
practice  in  his  art.  He  was  keenly  alive  to  the  necessary 
failings  of  youthful  literary  production  ;  he  also  practically 
denied  to  it  that  quality  which  so  often  places  it  at  an 
advantage  over  that,  not  indeed  of  more  mature  manhood, 
but  at  all  events  of  advancing  age.  There  was  much  in 
his  own  experience  to  blind  him  to  the  natural  effects  of 
time  ;  it  had  been  a  prolonged  triumph  over  them.  But 
the  delusion,  in  so  far  as  it  was  one,  lay  deeper  than  the 
testimony  of  such  experience,  and  would  I  think  have 
survived  it.  It  was  the  essence  of  his  belief  that  the  mind 
is  superior  to  physical  change  ;  that  it  may  be  helped  or 
hindered  by  its  temporary  alliance  with  the  body,  but  will 
none  the  less  outstrip  it  in  their  joint  course ;  and  as 
intellect  was  for  him  the  life  of  poetry,  so  was  the  power 
of  poetry  independent  of  bodily  progress  and  bodily  decline. 
This  conviction  pervaded  his  life.  He  learned,  though 
happily  very  late,  to  feel  age  an  impediment ;  he  never 
accepted  it  as  a  disqualification. 

He  finished  his  work  very  carefully.  He  had  the  better 
right  to  resent  any  garbling  of  it,  that  this  habitually  took 
place  through  his  punctuation,  which  was  always  made  with 
the  fullest  sense  of  its  significance  to  any  but  the  baldest 
Btyle,  and  of  its  special  importance  to  his  own.  I  have  heard 
him  say :  "  People  accuse  me  of  not  taking  pains  I     I  tak9 


ROBERT  BROWNING  861 

notlimg  but  pains  ! "  And  there  was  indeed  a  curious 
contrast  between  the  irresponsible,  often  strangely  un- 
questioned, impulse  to  which  the  substance  of  each  poem 
was  due,  and  the  conscientious  labour  which  he  always 
devoted  to  its  form.  The  laborious  habit  must  have  grown 
upon  him  ;  it  was  natural  that  it  should  do  so  as  thought 
gained  the  ascendency  over  emotion  in  what  he  had  to  say. 
Mrs.  Browning  told  Mr.  Yal  Prinsep  that  her  husband 
"  worked  at  a  great  rate  ; "  and  this  fact  probably  connected 
itself  with  the  difficulty  he  then  found  in  altering  the  form 
or  wording  of  any  particular  phrase ;  he  wrote  most  fre- 
quently under  that  lyrical  inspiration  in  which  the  idea  and 
the  form  are  least  separable  from  each  other.  "We  know, 
however,  that  in  the  later  editions  of  his  old  work  he  always 
corrected  where  he  could  ;  and  if  we  notice  the  changed 
lines  in  Paracelsus  or  SirdeUo,  as  they  appear  in  the  edition 
of  1863,  or  the  slighter  alterations  indicated  for  the  last 
reprint  of  his  works,  we  are  struck  by  the  care  evinced  in 
them  for  greater  smoothness  of  expression,  as  well  as  for 
greater  accuracy  and  force. 

He  produced  less  rapidly  in  later  life,  though  he  could 
throw  off  impromptu  verses,  whether  serious  or  comical, 
with  the  utmost  ease.  His  work  was  then  of  a  kind  which 
required  more  deliberation ;  and  other  claims  had  multi- 
plied upon  his  time  and  thoughts.  He  was  glad  to  have 
accomplished  twenty  or  thirty  lines  in  a  morning.  After 
lunch-time,  for  many  years,  he  avoided,  when  possible,  even 
answering  a  note.  But  he  always  counted  a  day  lost  on 
which  he  had  not  written  something  ;  and  in  those  last 
years  on  which  we  have  yet  to  enter,  he  complained  bitterly 
of  the  quantity  of  ephemeral  correspondence  which  kept 


362  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF 

him  back  from  his  proper  work.  He  once  wrote,  on  the 
occasion  of  a  short  illness  which  confined  him  to  the  house, 
"All  my  power  of  imagination  seems  gone.  I  might  as 
well  be  in  bed ! "  He  repeatedly  determined  to  write  a 
poem  every  day,  and  once  succeeded  for  a  fortnight  in  doing 
BO.  He  was  then  in  Paris,  preparing  Me:i  and  Women. 
GhilcU  Roland  and  Women  and  Roses  were  among  those 
produced  on  this  plan  ;  the  latter  having  been  suggested  by 
some  flowers  sent  to  his  wife.  The  lyrics  in  Ferishtah's 
Fancies  were  written,  I  believe,  on  consecutive  days ;  and 
the  intention  renewed  itself  with  his  last  work,  though  it 
cannot  have  been  maintained. 

He  was  not  as  great  a  reader  in  later  as  in  earlier  years  ; 
he  had  neither  time  nor  available  strength  to  be  so  if  he 
had  wished  ;  and  he  absorbed  almost  unconsciously  every 
item  which  added  itself  to  the  sum  of  general  knowledge. 
Books  had  indeed  served  for  him  their  most  important 
purpose  when  they  had  satisfied  the  first  curiosities  of  his 
genius,  and  enabled  it  to  estabhsh  its  independence.  His 
mind  was  made  up  on  the  chief  subjects  of  contemporary 
thought,  and  what  was  novel  or  controversial  in  its  pro- 
ceeding had  no  attraction  for  him.  He  would  read  any- 
thing, short  of  an  English  novel,  to  a  friend  whose  eyes 
required  this  assistance  ;  but  such  pleasure  as  he  derived 
from  the  act  was  more  often  sympathetic  than  spontaneous, 
even  when  he  had  not,  as  he  often  had,  selected  for  it  a  book 
which  he  already  knew.  In  the  course  of  his  last  decade 
he  devoted  himself  for  a  short  time  to  the  study  of  Spanish 
and  Hebrew.  The  Spanish  dramatists  yielded  him  a  fund  of 
new  enjoyment ;  and  he  delighted  in  his  power  of  reading 
Hebrew  in  its  most  diflicult  printed  forms.     He  also  tried. 


ROBERT   BROWNING  863 

but  with  less  result,  to  improve  his  knowledge  of  German. 
His  eyesight  defied  all  obstacles  of  bad  paper  and  ancient 
type,  and  there  was  anxiety  as  well  as  pleasure  to  those 
about  him  in  his  unfailing  confidence  in  its  powers.  He 
never  wore  spectacles,  nor  had  the  least  consciousness  of 
requiring  them.  He  would  read  an  old  closely  printed 
volume  by  the  waning  light  of  a  winter  afternoon,  posi- 
tively refusing  to  use  a  lamp.  Indeed  his  preference  of 
the  faintest  natural  light  to  the  best  that  could  be  artifici- 
ally produced  was  perhaps  the  one  suggestion  of  coming 
change.  He  used  for  all  purposes  a  single  eye  ;  for  the  two 
did  not  combine  in  their  action,  the  right  serving  ex- 
clusively for  near,  the  left  for  distant  objects.  This  was 
why  in  walking  he  often  closed  the  right  eye  ;  while  it  was 
indispensable  to  his  comfort  in  reading,  not  only  that  the 
light  should  come  from  the  right  side,  but  that  the  left 
should  be  shielded  from  any  luminous  object,  like  the  fire, 
which  even  at  the  distance  of  half  the  length  of  a  room 
would  strike  on  his  field  of  vision  and  confuse  the  near 
eight. 

His  literary  interest  became  increasingly  centred  on 
records  of  the  lives  of  men  and  women,  especially  of  such 
men  and  women  as  he  had  known  ;  he  was  generally  curious 
to  see  the  newly  published  biographies,  though  often  dis- 
appointed by  them.  He  would  also  read,  even  for  his 
amusement,  good  works  of  French  or  Italian  fiction.  His 
allegiance  to  Balzac  remained  unshaken,  though  he  was 
conscious  of  lengthiness  when  he  read  him  aloud.  This 
author's  deep  and  hence  often  poetic  realism  was,  I  believe, 
bound  up  with  his  own  earliest  aspirations  towards  dramatic 
art.     His  manner  of  reading  aloud  a  story  which  he  already 


LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

knew  was  the  counterpart  of  his  own  method  of  construc- 
tion. He  would  claim  his  listener's  attention  for  any 
apparently  unimportant  fact  which  had  a  part  to  play  in  it : 
he  would  say  :  "  Listen  to  this  description  :  it  will  be 
important.  Observe  this  character:  you  will  see  a  great 
deal  more  of  him  or  her."  "We  know  that  in  his  own  work 
nothing  was  thrown  away ;  no  note  was  struck  which  did  not 
add  its  vibration  to  the  general  utterance  of  the  poem  ;  and 
his  habitual  generosity  towards  a  fellow-worker  prompted  him 
to  seek  and  recognize  the  same  quality,  even  in  productions 
where  it  was  less  conspicuous  th^n  in  his  own.  The  patient 
reading  which  he  required  for  himself  was  justified  by  that 
■which  he  always  demanded  for  others  ;  and  he  claimed  it 
less  in  his  own  case  for  his  possible  intricacies  of  thought 
or  stylo,  than  for  that  compactness  of  living  structure  in 
which  every  detail  or  group  of  details  was  essential  to  the 
whole,  and  in  a  certain  sense  contained  it.  He  read  few 
things  with  so  much  pleasure  as  an  occasional  chapter  in 
the  Old  Testament. 

Mr.  Browning  was  a  brilliant  talker  ;  he  was  admittedly 
more  a  talker  than  a  conversationalist.  But  this  quality 
had  nothing  in  common  with  self-assertion  or  love  of  dis- 
play. He  had  too  much  respect  for  the  acquirements  of 
other  men  to  wish  to  impose  silence  on  those  who  were 
competent  to  speak  ;  and  he  had  great  pleasure  in  listening 
to  a  discussion  on  any  subject  in  which  he  was  interested, 
and  on  which  he  was  not  specially  informed.  He  never 
willingly  monopolized  the  conversation  ;  but  when  called 
upon  to  take  a  prominent  part  in  it,  either  with  one 
person  or  with  several,  the  flow  of  remembered  know- 
ledge and  revived  mental  experience,  combined  with  the 


'      ROBERT  BROWNING  3G5 

ingenuous  eagerness  to  vindicate  some  point  in  dispute, 
would  often  carry  him  away ;  while  his  hearers,  nearly 
as  often,  allowed  him  to  proceed  from  absence  of  any 
desire  to  interrupt  him.  This  great  mental  fertility  had 
been  prepared  by  the  wide  reading  and  thorough  assimila- 
tion of  his  early  days  ;  and  it  was  only  at  a  later,  and  in 
certain  respects  less  vigorous  period,  that  its  full  bearing 
could  be  seen.  His  memory  for  passing  occurrences,  even 
such  as  had  impressed  him,  became  very  weak  ;  it  was  so 
before  he  had  grown  really  old  ;  and  he  would  urge  this 
fact  in  deprecation  of  any  want  of  kindness  or  sympathy, 
which  a  given  act  of  forgetfulncss  might  seem  to  involve. 
He  had  probably  always,  in  matters  touching  his  own  life, 
the  memory  of  feelings  more  than  that  of  facts.  I  think 
this  has  been  described  as  a  peculiarity  of  the  poet-nature  ; 
and  though  this  memory  is  probably  the  more  tenacious  of 
the  two,  it  is  no  safe  guide  to  the  recovery  of  facts,  still  less 
to  that  of  their  order  and  significance.  Yet  up  to  the  last 
weeks,  even  the  last  conscious  days  of  his  life,  his  remem- 
brance of  historical  incident,  his  aptness  of  literary  illustra- 
tion, never  failed  him.  His  dinner-table  anecdotes  supplied, 
of  course,  no  measure  for  this  spontaneous  reproductive 
power ;  yet  some  weight  must  be  given  to  the  number  of 
years  during  which  he  could  abound  in  such  stories,  and 
attest  their  constant  appropriateness  by  not  repeating  them. 
This  brilliant  mental  quality  had  its  drawback,  on 
which  I  have  already  touched  in  a  rather  different  con- 
nection :  the  obstacle  which  it  created  to  even  serious  and 
private  conversation  on  any  subject  on  which  he  was  not 
neutral.  Feeling,  imagination,  and  the  vividness  of  per- 
sonal points  of  view,  constantly  thwarted  the  attempt  at  a 


see  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

dispassionate  exchange  of  ideas.  But  the  balance  often 
righted  itstilf  when  the  excitement  of  the  discussion  was 
at  an  end  ;  and  it  would  even  become  apparent  that 
expressions  or  arguments  which  he  had  passed  over  un- 
heeded, or  as  it  seemed  unheard,  had  stored  themselves  in 
his  mind  and  borne  fruit  there. 

I  think  it  is  Mr.  Sharp  who  has  remarked  that  Mr. 
Browning  combined  impulsiveness  of  manner  with  much 
real  reserve.  He  was  habitually  reticent  where  his  deeper 
feelitigs  were  concerned  ;  and  the  impulsiveness  and  the 
reticence  were  both  equally  rooted  in  his  poetic  and  human 
temperament.  The  one  meant  the  vital  force  of  his 
emotions,  the  other  their  sensibility.  In  a  smaller  or  more 
prosaic  nature  they  must  have  modified  each  other.  But 
the  partial  secretiveness  had  also  occasionally  its  conscious 
motives,  some  unselfish,  and  some  self-regarding  ;  and  from 
this  point  of  view  it  stood  in  marked  apparent  antagonism 
to  the  more  expansive  quality.  He  never,  however,  in- 
tentionally withheld  from  others  such  things  as  it  concerned 
them  to  know.  His  intellectual  and  religious  convictions 
were  open  to  all  who  seriously  sought  them  ;  and  if,  even 
on  such  points,  he  did  not  appear  communicative,  it  was 
because  he  took  more  interest  in  any  subject  of  conversation 
which  did  not  directly  centre  in  himself. 

Setting  aside  the  delicacies  which  tend  to  self-conceal- 
ment, and  for  which  he  had  been  always  more  or  less 
conspicuous  ;  excepting  also  the  pride  which  would  co- 
operate with  them,  all  his  inclinations  were  in  the  direction 
of  truth  ;  and  there  was  no  quality  which  he  so  much  loved 
and  admired.  He  thought  aloud  wherever  he  could  trust 
himself  to  do  so.     Impulse  predominated  in  all  the  active 


ROBERT  BROWNING  867 

manifestations  of  his  nature.  The  fiery  child  and  the 
^1  impatient  boy  had  left  their  traces  in  the  man ;  and  with 
them  the  peculiar  childlike  quality  which  the  man  of 
genius  never  outgrows,  and  which,  in  its  mingled  wayward- 
ness and  sweetness,  was  present  in  Robert  Browning  till 
almost  his  dying  day.  There  was  also  a  recurrent  touch  of 
hardness,  distinct  from  the  comparatively  ungenial  mood  of 
his  earlier  years  of  widowhood  ;  and  this,  like  his  reserve, 
seemed  to  conflict  with  his  general  character,  but  in  reality 
harmonized  with  it.  It  meant,  not  that  feeling  was  sus- 
pended in  him,  but  that  it  was  compressed.  It  was  his 
natural  response  to  any  opposition  which  his  reasonings 
could  not  shake  nor  his  will  overcome,  and  which,  rightly 
or  not,  conveyed  to  him  the  sense  of  being  misunderstood. 
It  reacted  in  pain  for  others,  but  it  lay  with  an  aching 
weight  on  his  own  heart,  and  was  thrown  off  in  an  upheaval 
of  the  pent-up  kindliness  and  affection,  tbe  moment  their 
true  springs  were  touched.  The  hardening  power  in  his 
composition,  though  fugitive  and  comparatively  seldom 
displayed,  was  in  fact  proportioned  to  his  tenderness  ;  and 
no  one  who  had  not  seen  him  in  the  revulsion  from  a 
hard  mood,  or  the  regret  for  it,  knew  what  that  tenderness 
could  be. 

Underlying  all  the  peculiarities  of  his  nature,  its 
strength  and  its  weakness,  its  exuberance  and  its  reserves, 
was  the  nervous  excitability  of  which  I  have  spoken  in  an 
earlier  chapter.  I  have  heard  him  say  :  "  I  am  nervous  to 
such  a  degree  that  I  might  fancy  I  could  not  enter  a 
drawing-room,  if  I  did  not  know  from  long  experience 
that  I  can  do  it."  He  did  not  d-.sire  to  conceal  this  fact, 
nor  need  others  conceal  it  for  him ;    since   it  was  only 


368  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF 


calculated  to  disarm  criticism  and  to  strengthen  aympathy. 
The  special  vital  power  which  he  derived  from  this  organiza- 
tion need  not  be  reaffirmed.  It  carried  also  its  inevitable ' 
disablements.  Its  resources  were  not  always  under  his 
own  control ;  and  he  frequently  complained  of  the  lack 
of  presence  of  mind  which  would  seize  him  on  any  con- 
ventional emergency  not  included  in  the  daily  social 
routine.  In  a  real  one  he  was  never  at  fault.  He  never 
failed  in  a  sympathetic  response  or  a  playful  retort ;  he 
was  always  provided  with  the  exact  counter  requisite  in  a 
game  of  words.  In  this  respect  indeed  he  had  all  the 
powers  of  the  conversationalist ;  and  the  perfect  ease  and 
grace  and  geniality  of  his  manner  on  such  occasions,  arose 
probably  far  more  from  his  innate  human  and  social 
qualities  than  from  even  his  familiar  intercourse  with  the 
world.  But  he  could  not  extemporize  a  speech.  He  could 
not  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  string  together  the  more  or 
less  set  phrases  which  an  after-dinner  oration  demands.  All 
his  friends  knew  this,  and  spared  him  the  necessity  of 
refusing.  He  had  once  a  headache  all  day,  because  at  a 
dinner,  the  night  before,  a  false  report  had  reached  him 
that  he  was  going  to  be  asked  to  speak.  This  alone  would 
have  sufficed  to  prevent  him  from  accepting  any  public 
post.  He  confesses  the  disability  in  a  pretty  note  to 
Professor  Knight,  written  in  reference  to  a  recent  meeting 
of  the  Wordsworth  Society. 

19,  Warwick  Crescent,  W. :  May  9,  '84. 

My  dear  Professor  Knight, — I  seem  ungracious  and 
ungrateful,  but  am  neither ;  though,  now  that  your 
festival  is  over,  I  wish  I  could  have  overcome  my  scruples 


I 


ROBERT  BROWNING  369 

iiv  b  and  appreViensions.     It  is  hard  to  say — when  kind  people 

[■     press  one  to  "  just  speak  for  a  minute  " — that  the  business, 

60  easy  to  almost  anybody,  is  too  bewildering  for  oneself. 

Ever  truly  yours, 

RoBEBT  Browning. 


A  Rectorial  Address  need  probably  not  have  been 
extemporized,  but  it  would  also  have  been  irksome  to  him 
to  prepare.  He  was  not  accustomed  to  uttering  himself  in 
prose  except  within  the  limits,  and  under  the  incitements, 
of  private  correspondence.  The  ceremonial  publicity 
attaching  to  all  official  proceedings  would  also  have 
inevitably  been  a  trial  to  him.  He  did  at  one  of  the 
Wordsworth  Society  meetings  speak  a  sentence  from  the 
chair,  in  the  absence  of  the  appointed  chairman,  who  had 
not  yet  arrived  ;  and  when  he  had  received  his  degree  from 
the  University  of  Edinburgh  he  was  persuaded  to  say  a  few 
words  to  the  assembled  students,  in  which  I  believe  he 
thanked  them  for  their  warm  welcome  ;  but  such  exceptions 
only  proved  the  rule. 

"We  cannot  doubt  that  the  excited  stream  of  talk  which 
sometimes  flowed  from  him  was,  in  the  given  conditions  of 
mind  and  imagination,  due  to  a  nervous  impulse  which  he 
could  not  always  restrain  and  that  the  effusiveness  of 
manner  with  which  he  greeted  alike  old  friends  and  new, 
arose  also  from  a  momentary  want  of  self-possession.  "We 
may  admit  this  the  more  readily  that  in  both  cases  it  was 
allied  to  real  kindness  of  intention,  above  all  in  the  latter, 
where  the  fear  of  seeming  cold  towards  even  »  friend's 
friend,  strove  increasingly  with  the  defective  nzemory  for 
names  and  faces  which  were  not  quite  fimiliar  to  him. 

2  B 


S70  IJFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

He  was  also  profoundly  averse  to  the  idea  of  posing  as 
a  man  of  superior  gifts  ;  having  indeed,  in  regard  to 
social  intercourse,  as  little  of  the  fastidiousness  of  genius  a3 
of  its  bohemianism.  He,  therefore,  made  it  a  rule,  from 
the  moment  he  took  his  place  as  a  celelDrity  in  the  London 
world,  to  exert  himself  for  the  amusement  of  his  fellow- 
guests  at  a  dinner-table,  whether  their  own  mental  resources 
were  great  or  small ;  and  this  gave  rise  to  a  frequent  effort 
at  conversation,  which  converted  itself  into  a  habit,  and 
ended  by  carrying  him  away.  This  at  least  was  his  own 
conviction  in  the  matter.  The  loud  voice,  which  so  many 
persons  must  have  learnt  to  think  habitual  with  him,  bore 
also  traces  of  this  haK-unconscious  nervous  stimulation.^ 
It  was  natural  to  him  in  anger  or  excitement,  but  did  not 
express  his  gentler  or  more  equable  states  of  feeling  ;  and 
when  he  read  to  others  on  a  subject  which  moved  him,  his 
utterance  often  subsided  into  a  tremulous  softness  which 
lefo  it  scarcely  audible. 

The  mental  conditions  under  which  his  powers  of  sym- 
pathy were  exercised  imposed  no  limits  on  his  spontaneous 
human  kindness.  This  characteristic  benevolence,  or  power 
of  love,  is  not  fully  represented  in  Mr.  Browning's  works ; 
it  is  certainly  not  prominent  in  those  of  the  later  period, 
during  which  it  found  the  widest  scope  in  his  life  ;  but  he 
has  in  some  sense  given  its  measure  in  what  was  intended 
as  an  illustration  of  the  opposite  quality.     He  tells  us,  in 

'  Miss  Browning  reminds  me  that  loud  speaking  had  hecome 
natural  to  him  through  the  deafness  of  several  of  his  intimate 
friends :  Landor,  Kirkup,  Barry  Cornwall,  and  previously  his  uncle 
Beuben,  whose  hearing  had  been  impaired  in  early  life  by  a  blow 
from  a  cricket  ball.  This  fact  necessarily  modifies  my  kupression  oi 
Ihe  case,  but  does  not  quite  destroy  it. 


ROBERT  BROWNING  371 

Fifine  at  the  Fair,  that  while  the  best  strength  of  women  ia 
to  be  found  in  their  love,  the  best  product  of  a  man  is  only 
yielded  to  hate.  It  is  the  "  indignant  wine  "  which  has 
been  wrung  from  the  grape  plant  by  its  external  mutilation. 
He  could  depict  it  dramatically  in  more  malignant  forms 
of  emotion  ;  but  he  could  only  think  of  it  personally  as  the 
reaction  of  a  nobler  feeling  which  has  been  gratuitously 
outraged  or  repressed. 

He  more  directly,  and  still  more  truly,  described  himself 
when  he  said  at  about  the  same  time,  "  I  have  never  at 
any  period  of  my  life  been  deaf  to  an  appeal  made  to  me  in 
the  name  of  love."  He  was  referring  to  an  experience  of 
many  years  before,  in  which  he  had  even  yielded  his  better 
judgement  to  such  an  appeal ;  and  it  was  love  in  the  larger 
sense  for  which  the  concession  had  been  claimed. 

It  was  impossible  that  so  genuine  a  poet,  and  so  real 
a  man,  should  be  otherwise  than  sensitive  to  the  varied 
forms  of  feminine  attraction.  He  avowedly  preferred  the 
society  of  women  to  that  of  men  ;  they  were,  as  I  have 
already  said,  his  habitual  confidants,  and,  evidently,  his 
most  frequent  correspondents  ;  and  though  he  could  have 
dispensed  with  woman  friends  as  he  dispensed  with  many 
other  things — though  he  most  often  won  them  without 
knowing  it — his  frank  interest  in  their  sex,  and  the  often 
caressing  kindness  of  manner  in  which  it  was  revealed, 
might  justly  be  interpreted  by  individual  women  into  a 
conscious  appeal  to  their  sympathy.  It  was  therefore 
doubly  remarkable  that,  on  the  ground  of  benevolence,  he 
scarcely  discriminated  between  the  claim  on  him  of  a 
woman,  and  that  of  a  man  ;  and  his  attitude  towards 
women  was  in  this  respect  so  distinctive  as  to  merit  some 


372  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

words  of  notice.  It  was  large,  generous,  and  unconven- 
tional ;  but,  for  that  very  reason,  it  was  not,  in  the 
received  sense  of  the  word,  chivalrous.  Chivalry  proceeds 
on  the  assumption  that  women  not  only  cannot,  but  should 
not,  take  care  of  themselves  in  any  active  struggle  with  life  ; 
Mr.  Browning  had  no  theoretical  objection  to  a  woman's 
taking  care  of  herself.  He  saw  no  reason  why,  if  she  was 
hit,  she  should  not  hit  back  again,  or  even  why,  if  she 
hit,  she  should  not  receive  an  answering  blow.  He 
responded  swiftly  to  every  feminine  appeal  to  his  kindness 
or  his  protection,  whether  arising  from  physical  weakness 
or  any  other  obvious  cause  of  helplessness  or  suffering  ;  but 
the  appeal  in  such  cases  lay  first  to  his  humanity,  and  only 
in  second  order  to  his  consideration  of  sex.  He  would 
have  had  a  man  flogged  who  beat  his  wife  ;  he  would  have 
had  one  flogged  who  iU-used  a  child — or  an  animal :  he 
was  notedly  opposed  to  any  sweeping  principle  or  practice 
of  vivisection.  But  he  never  quite  understood  that  the 
strongest  women  are  weak,  or  at  all  events  vulnerable,  in 
the  very  fact  of  their  sex,  through  the  minor  traditions  and 
conventions  with  which  society  justly,  indeed  necessarily, 
smrounds  them.  Still  less  did  he  understand  those  real,  if 
impalpable,  differences  between  men  and  women  which 
correspond  to  the  difference  of  position.  He  admitted  the 
broad  distinctions  which  have  become  proverbial,  and  are 
therefore  only  a  rough  measure  of  the  truth.  He  could  say 
on  occasion  :  "  You  ought  to  he  better  ;  you  are  a  woman  ; 
I  ought  to  hiow  better  ;  I  am  a  man."  But  he  had  had 
too  large  an  experience  of  human  nature  to  attach  per- 
manent weight  to  such  generalizations  ;  and  they  found 
certainly  no  expres=-ion  in  his  works.     Scarcely  an  instance 


ROBERT  BROWNING  873 

of  a  conventional,  or  so-called  man's  woman,  occurs  in  their 
whole  range.  Excepting  perhaps  the  speaker  in  A  Woman^s 
Last  Word,  PompiUa  and  Mildred  are  the  nearest  approach 
to  it ;  and  in  both  of  these  we  find  qualities  of  imagination 
or  thought  which  place  them  outside  the  conventional 
type.  He  instinctively  judged  women,  both  morally  and 
intellectually,  by  the  same  standards  as  men  ;  and  when 
confronted  by  some  divergence  of  thought  or  feeling,  which 
meant,  in  the  woman's  case,  neither  quality  nor  defect  in 
any  strict  sense  of  the  word,  but  simply  a  nature  trained  to 
different  points  of  view,  an  element  of  perplexity  entered 
into  his  probable  opposition.  When  the  difference  pre- 
sented itself  in  a  neutral  aspect,  it  affected  him  like  the 
casual  peculiarities  of  a  family  or  a  group,  or  a  casual 
disagreement  between  things  of  the  same  kind.  He  would 
say  to  a  woman  friend  :  "  You  women  are  so  different  from 
men  I "  in  the  tone  in  which  he  might  have  said,  "  You 
Irish,  or  you  Scotch,  are  so  different  from  Englishmen  "  ; 
or  again,  "  It  is  impossible  for  a  man  to  judge  how  a 
woman  would  act  in  such  or  such  a  case  ;  you  are  so 
different  " ;  the  case  being  sometimes  one  in  which  it 
would  be  inconceivable  to  a  normal  woman,  and  therefore 
to  the  generality  of  men,  that  she  should  act  in  any  bub 
one  way. 

The  vague  sense  of  mystery  with  which  the  poet's  mind 
usually  invests  a  being  of  the  opposite  sex,  had  thus  often 
in  him  its  counterpart  in  a  puzzled  dramatic  curiosity  which 
constituted  an  equal  ground  of  interest. 

This  virtual  admission  of  equality  between  the  sexes 
combined  with  his  Liberal  principles  to  dispose  him  favour- 
ably towards  the  movement  for  Female  Emancipation.    Ha 


874  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF 

approved  of  everything  that  had  been  done  for  the  higher 
instruction  of  women,  and  would,  not  veiy  long  before  his 
death,  have  supported  their  admission  to  the  Franchise.  But 
he  was  so  much  displeased  by  the  more  recent  action  of  some 
of  the  lady  advocates  of  "Women's  Rights,  that,  during  the 
last  year  of  his  life,  after  various  modifications  of  opinion, 
he  frankly  pledged  himself  to  the  opposite  view.  He  had 
even  visions  of  writing  a  tragedy  or  drama  in  support  of  it. 
The  plot  was  roughly  sketched,  and  some  dialogue  composed, 
though  I  believe  no  trace  of  this  remains. 

It  is  almost  implied  by  all  I  have  said,  that  he  possessed 
in  every  mood  the  charm  of  perfect  simplicity  of  manner. 
On  this  point  he  resembled  his  father.  His  tastes  lay  also 
in  the  direction  of  great  simplicity  of  life,  though  circum- 
stances did  not  allow  of  his  indulging  them  to  the  same 
extent.  It  may  interest  those  who  never  saw  him  to  know 
that  he  always  dressed  as  well  as  the  occasion  required,  and 
always  with  great  indifference  to  the  subject.  In  Florence 
he  wore  loose  clothes  which  were  adapted  to  the  climate  ;  in 
London  his  coats  were  cut  by  a  good  tailor  in  whatever  was 
the  prevailing  fashion  ;  the  change  was  simply  with  him 
an  incident  of  the  situation.  He  had  also  a  look  of  dainty 
cleanliness  which  was  heightened  by  the  smooth  healthy 
texture  of  the  skin,  and  in  later  life  by  the  silvery  whiteness 
of  his  hair. 

His  best  photographic  likenesses  were  those  taken  by 
Mr.  Fradelle  in  1881,  Mr.  Cameron  and  Mr.  William  Grove 
in  1888  and  1889. 


ROBERT  BROWNING  876 


CHAPTER  XXII 

1887-1889 

Marriage  of  Mr.  Barrett  Browning — Kemoval  to  De  Vera  Gardens 
— Symptoms  of  failing  Strength — New  Poems ;  New  Edition 
of  his  Works — Letters  to  IMr.  George  Bainton,  Mr.  Smith,  and 
Lad}'  Martin — Primiero  and  Venice — Letters  to  Miss  Keep — 
The  last  Year  in  London — Asolo — Letters  to  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald, 
Mrs,  Skirrow,  and  Mr.  G.  M.  Smith. 

The  last  years  of  Mr.  Browning's  life  were  introduced  by 
two  auspicious  events,  in  themselves  of  very  unequal  im- 
portance, but  each  in  its  own  way  significant  for  his 
happiness  and  his  health.  One  was  his  son's  marriage  on 
October  4,  1887,  to  Miss  Fatmie  Coddington,  of  New 
York,  a  lady  towards  whom  Mr.  Barrett  Browning  had 
been  strongly  attracted  when  he  was  a  very  young  man 
and  she  little  more  than  a  child  ;  the  other,  his  own  removal 
from  Warwick  Crescent  to  De  Yere  Gardens,  which  took 
place  in  the  previous  June.  The  change  of  residence  had 
long  been  with  him  only  a  question  of  opportunity.  He 
was  once  even  in  treaty  for  a  piece  of  ground  at  Kensington, 
and  intended  building  a  house.  That  in  which  he  had  lived 
for  so  many  years  had  faults  of  construction  and  situiitiou 
which  the  lapse  of  time  rendered  only  more  conspicuous ; 
the  Regent's  Canal  Bill  had  also  doomed  it  to  demolition ; 


376  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1R87 

and  when  an  opening  presented  itself  for  securing  one  in 
all  essentials  more  suitable,  he  was  glad  to  seize  it,  though 
at  the  eleventh  hour.  He  had  mentally  fixed  on  the  new 
locality  in  those  earlier  days  in  which  he  still  thought  his 
Bon  might  eventually  settle  in  London  ;  and  it  possessed  at 
the  same  time  many  advantages  for  himself.  It  was  warmer 
and  more  sheltered  than  any  which  he  could  have  found  on 
the  north  side  of  the  Park  ;  and,  in  that  close  vicinity  to 
Kensington  Gardens,  walking  might  be  contemplated  as  a 
pleasure,  instead  of  mere  compulsory  motion  from  place  to 
place.  It  was  only  too  soon  apparent  that  the  time  had 
passed  when  he  could  reap  much  benefit  from  the  event ; 
but  he  became  aware  from  the  first  moment  of  his  installa- 
tion in  the  new  home  that  the  conditions  of  physical  life 
had  become  more  favourable  for  him.  He  found  an  almost 
pathetic  pleasure  in  completing  the  internal  arrangements 
of  the  well-built,  commodious  house.  It  seems,  on  looking 
back,  as  if  the  veil  had  dropped  before  his  eyes  which  some- 
times shrouds  the  keenest  vision  in  face  of  an  impending 
change  ;  and  he  had  imagined,  in  spite  of  casual  utterances 
which  disclaimed  the  hope,  that  a  new  lease  of  life  was 
being  given  to  him.  He  had  for  several  years  been  pre- 
paring for  the  more  roomy  dwelling  which  he  would 
probably  some  day  inhabit ;  and  handsome  pieces  of  old 
furniture  had  been  stowed  away  in  the  house  in  "Warwick 
Crescent,  pending  the  occasion  for  their  use.  He  loved 
antiquities  of  this  kind,  in  a  manner  which  sometimes 
recalled  his  father's  affection  for  old  books  ;  and  most  of 
these  had  been  bought  in  Venice,  where  frequent  visits  to 
the  noted  curiosity-shops  had  been  his  one  bond  of  habit 
with  his  tourist  countrymen  in  that  city.     They  matched 


1887]  ROBERT  BROWNING  377 

the  carved  oak  and  massive  gildings  and  valuable  tapestriea 
•which  had  carried  something  of  Casa  Guidi  into  his  first 
London  home.  Brass  lamps  that  had  once  hung  inside 
chapels  in  some  Catholic  church,  had  long  occupied  the  place 
of  the  habitual  gasalier ;  and  to  these  was  added  in  the 
following  year  one  of  silver,  also  brought  from  Yenice — the 
Jewish  "  Sabbath  lamp."  Another  acquisition,  made  only  a 
few  months,  if  indeed  so  long,  before  he  left  London  for  the 
last  time,  was  that  of  a  set  of  casts  representing  the  Seasons, 
which  were  to  stand  at  intervals  on  brackets  in  a  certain 
unsightly  space  on  his  drawing-room  wall ;  and  he  bad 
said  of  these,  which  I  think  his  son  was  procuring  for  him  : 
"  Only  my  four  little  heads,  and  then  I  shall  not  buy 
another  thing  for  the  house " — in  a  tone  of  childlike 
satisfaction  at  his  completed  work. 

This  summer  he  merely  went  to  St.  Moritz,  where  he 
and  his  sister  were,  for  the  greater  part  of  their  stay,  again 
guests  of  Mrs.  Bloomfield  Moore.  He  was  determined  to 
give  the  London  winter  a  fuller  trial  in  the  more  promising 
circumstances  of  his  new  life,  and  there  was  much  to  be 
done  in  De  Vere  Gardens  after  his  return.  His  father's 
six  thousand  books,  together  with  those  he  had  himself 
accumulated,  were  for  the  first  time  to  be  spread  out  in 
their  pioper  array,  instead  of  crowding  together  in  rows, 
behind  and  behind  each  other.  The  new  bookcases,  which 
could  stand  in  the  large  new  study,  were  waiting  to  receive 
them.  He  did  not  know  until  he  tried  to  fulfil  it  how 
greatly  the  task  would  tax  his  strength.  The  library  was, 
I  beheve,  never  completely  arranged. 

During  this  winter  of  1887-8  his  friends  first  perceived 
that  a  change  had  come  over  him.     They  did  not  realize 


378  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1887- 

that  his  life  was  drawing  to  a  close  ;  it  was  difficult  to 
do  so  when  so  much  of  the  former  elasticity  remained  ; 
when  he  still  proclaimed  himself  "  quite  well "  so  long 
as  he  was  not  definitely  suffering.  But  he  was  often 
suffering ;  one  terrible  cold  followed  another.  There 
was  general  evidence  that  he  had  at  last  grown  old. 
He,  however,  made  no  distinct  change  in  his  mode  of 
life.  Old  habits,  suspended  by  his  longer  imprisonments 
to  the  house,  were  resumed  as  soon  as  he  was  set  free. 
He  still  dined  out ;  still  attended  the  private  view  of 
every,  or  almost  every  art  exhibition.  He  kept  up  his 
unceasing  correspondence — in  one  or  two  cases  voluntarily 
added  to  it ;  though  he  would  complain  day  after  day 
that  his  fingers  ached  from  the  number  of  hours  through 
which  he  had  held  his  pen.  One  of  the  interesting  letters 
of  this  period  was  written  to  Mr.  George  Sainton,  of 
Coventry,  to  be  used,  as  that  gentleman  tells  me,  in  the 
preparation  of  a  lecture  on  the  "  Art  of  Effective  Written 
Composition."  It  confirms  the  statement  I  have  had 
occasion  to  make,  that  no  extraneous  influence  ever  per- 
manently impressed  itself  on  Mr.  Browning's  style. 

29,  De  Vere  Gardens  :  Oct.  6,  '87. 
Dear  Sir, — I  was  absent  from  London  when  your  kind 
letter  reached  this  house,  to  which  I  removed  some  time 
ago — hence  the  delay  in  acknowledging  your  kindness  and 
replying,  in  some  degree,  to  your  request.  All  I  can  say, 
however,  is  this  much — and  very  little — that,  by  the 
indulgence  of  my  father  and  mother,  I  was  allowed  to 
live  my  own  life  and  choose  my  own  course  in  it ;  which, 
having  been  the  same  from  the  beginning  to  the  end, 
necessitated  a  permission  to  read  nearly  all  sorts  of  books, 


1888]  ROBERT   BROWNING  879 

in  a  well-stocked  and  very  miscellaneous  library.  T  had 
no  other  direction  than  my  parents'  taste  for  whatever 
was  highest  and  best  in  literature  ;  but  I  found  out  for 
myself  many  forgotten  fields  which  proved  the  richest  of 
pastures  :  and,  so  far  as  a  preference  of  a  particular  "  style  " 
is  concerned,  I  believe  mine  was  just  the  same  at  first  as 
at  last.  I  cannot  name  any  one  author  who  exclusively 
influenced  me  in  that  respect, — as  to  the  fittest  expression 
of  thought — but  thought  itself  had  many  impulsions  from 
very  various  sources,  a  matter  not  to  your  present  purpose. 
I  repeat,  this  is  very  little  to  say,  but  all  in  my  power — 
and  it  is  heartily  at  your  service— if  not  as  of  any  value, 
at  least  as  a  proof  that  I  gratefully  feel  your  kindness,  and 
am,  dear  Sir 

Yours  very  truly, 

Robert  Bnowxixa. 

In  December  1887  he  wrote  Rosny,  the  first  poem  in 
Asolando,  and  that  which  perhaps  most  displays  his  old 
subtle  dramatic  power  ;  it  was  followed  by  Beatrice  Signorini 
and  Flutfi-Musir.  Of  the  Bad  Dreams  two  or  three  were 
also  written  in  London,  I  think,  during  that  winter.  The 
Ponfe  delV  Angela  was  imagined  during  the  next  autumn 
in  Venice.  White  Witchcraft  had  been  suggested  in  the 
same  summer  by  a  letter  from  a  friend  in  the  Channel 
Islands  which  spoke  of  the  number  of  toads  to  be  seen 
there.  In  the  spring  of  1888  he  began  revising  his 
works  for  the  last,  and  now  entirely  uniform  edition, 
which  was  issued  in  monthly  volumes,  and  completed  by 
the  July  of  1889.  Important  verbal  corrections  were 
made  in  The  Inn  Album,  though  not,  I  think,  in  many 
of  the  later  poems  ;   but  that  in   which   he  found  most 


880  LIFE   x\ND   LETTERS   OF  [1888 

room  for  improvement  was,  very  naturally,  Pauline;  and 
he  wrote  concerning  it  to  Mr.  Smith  the  following 
interesting  letter. 

29,  De  Vere  Gardens,  W. :  Feb.  27,  '88. 

My  dear  Smith, — When  I  received  the  Proofs  of  the 
1st.  vol.  on  Friday  evening,  I  made  sure  of  returning  them 
next  day — so  accurately  are  they  printed.  But  on  looking 
at  that  unlucky  Pauline,  which  I  have  not  touched  for 
half  a  century,  a  sudden  impulse  came  over  me  to  take 
the  opportunity  of  just  correcting  the  most  obvious  faults 
of  expression,  versification  and  construction, — letting  the 
fhoujhts— such,  as  they  are — remain  exactly  as  at  first :  I 
have  only  treated  the  imperfect  expression  of  these  just  as 
I  have  now  and  then  done  for  an  amateur  friend,  if  he 
asked  me  and  I  liked  him  enough  to  do  so.  Not  a  line 
is  displaced,  none  added,  none  taken  away.  I  have  just 
sent  it  to  the  printer's  with  an  explanatory  word  :  and 
told  him  that  he  will  have  less  trouble  with  all  the  rest 
of  the  volumes  put  together  than  with  this  little  portion. 
I  expect  to  return  all  the  rest  to-morrow  or  next  day. 

As  for  the  sketch — the  portrait — it  admits  of  no  very 
superior  treatment :  but,  as  it  is  the  only  one  which  makes 
me  out  youngish, — I  should  like  to  know  if  an  artist  could 
not  strengthen  the  thing  by  a  pencil  touch  or  two  in  a  few 
minutes — improve  the  eyes,  eyebrows,  and  mouth  somewhat. 
The  head  too  wants  improvement :  were  Pen  here  he  could 
manage  it  all  in  a  moment. 

Ever  truly  yours, 

Robert  Beowning. 

Any  attempt  at  modifying  the  expressed  thoughts  of 
his  twenty-first  year  would  have  been,  as  he  probably  felt, 
a  futile  tampering  with  the  work  of  another  man ;  his 


1888]  ROBERT   BROWNING  381 

literary  conscience  would  have  forbidden  this,  if  it  had 
been  otlierwise  possible.  But  he  here  proves  by  his  own 
words  what  I  have  already  asserted,  that  the  power  of 
detail  correction  either  was,  or  had  become  by  experience, 
very  strong  in  him. 

The  history  of  this  summer  of  1888  is  partly  given 
in  a  letter  to  Lady  Martin. 

29,  De  Vere  Gardens,  W. :  Aug.  12,  '88. 

Dear  Lady  Martin, — The  date  of  your  kind  letter, — 
June  18, — would  affect  me  indeed,  but  for  the  good  con- 
science I  retain  despite  of  appearances.  So  uncertain  have 
I  been  as  to  the  course  we  should  take, — my  sister  and  my- 
self— when  the  time  came  for  leaving  town,  that  it  seemed 
as  if  "  next  week  "  might  be  the  eventful  week  when  all 
doubts  would  disappear — perhaps  the  strange  cold  weather 
and  interminable  rain  made  it  hard  to  venture  from  under 
one's  roof  even  in  fancy  of  being  better  lodged  elsewhere. 
This  very  day  week  it  was  the  old  story — cold — then 
followed  the  suffocating  eight  or  nine  tropical  days  which 
forbade  any  more  delay,  and  we  leave  to-morrow  for  a  place 
called  Primiero,  near  Feltre — where  my  son  and  his  wife 
assure  us  we  may  be  comfortably — and  coolly — housed,  until 
we  can  accompany  them  to  Venice,  which  we  may  stay  at 
for  a  short  time.  You  remember  our  troubles  at  Llangollen 
about  the  purchase  of,  a  Venetian  house  .  .  .  ?  My  son, 
however,  nothing  daunted,  and^cting  under  abler  counsels 
than  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  obtain,^  has  obtained  a  still 
more  desirable  acquisition,  in  the  shape  of  the  well-known 
Etzzonico  Palace  (that  of  Pope  Clement  13th) — and,  I 
believe,  is  to  be  congratulated  on  his  bargain.  I  cannot 
profess  the  same  interest  iu  this  as  in  the  earlier  object  of 
*  Those  of  Mr.  Alexander  Malcolm. 


382  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1888 

his  ambition,  but  am  quite  satisfied  by  the  evident  satisfac- 
tion of  the  "  young  people."  So, — by  the  old  law  of  com- 
pensation,— while  we  may  expect  pleasant  days  abroad — our 
chance  is  gone  of  once  again  enjoying  your  company  in 
your  own  lovely  Yale  of  Llangollen  ; — had  we  not  been 
pulled  otherwise  by  the  inducements  we  could  not  resist, — 
another  term  of  delightful  weeks — each  tipped  with  a  sweet 
starry  Sunday  at  the  little  church  leading  to  the  House 
Beautiful  where  we  took  our  rest  of  an  evening  spent  always 
memorably — this  might  have  been  our  fortunate  lot  once 
again  !  As  it  is,  perhaps  we  need  more  energetic  treatment 
than  we  should  get  with  you — for  both  of  us  are  more 
oppressed  than  ever  by  the  exigencies  of  the  lengthy  season, 
and  require  still  more  bracing  air  than  the  gently  lulling 
temperatm-e  of  Wales.  May  it  be  doing  you,  and  dear  Sir 
Theodore,  all  the  good  you  deserve — throwing  in  the  share 
due  to  us,  who  must  forgo  it !  With  all  love  from  us  both, 
ever  affectionately  yours 

EOBEET   BEOWNING. 

He  did  start  for  Italy  on  the  following  day,  but  had 

become  so  ill,  that  he  was  on  the  point  of  postponing  his 

departure.     He  suffered  throughout  the  journey  as  he  had 

never  suffered  on  any  journey  before  ;  and  during  his  first 

few  days  at  Primiero  could  only  lead  the  life  of  an  invahd.^ 

He  rallied,  however,  as  usual,  under  the  potent  effect  of 

quiet,   fresh  air,    and   sunshine  ;  and   fully  recovered   his 

normal   state    before    proceeding    to    Venice,   where    the 

continued   sense  of   physical  health  combined  with   many 

extraneous  circumstances  to  convert  his  proposed  short  stay 

into  a  long  one.     A  letter  from  the  mountains,  addressed 

1  [According  to  Mr.  E.  Barrett  Browning,  wlio  was  present,  this 
only  means  that  he  abstained  for  a  few  days  from  taking  long 
walks.] 


■ .,  1888]  ROBERT  BROWNING  383 

to  a  lady  who  had  never  been  abroad,  and  to  whom  he 
sometimes  wrote  with  more  descriptive  detail  than  to  other 
friends,  gives  a  touching  glimpse  of  his  fresh  delight  in  the 
jl  beauties  of  nature,  and  his  tender  constant  sympathy  with 
the  animal  creation. 

"  Primiero  :  Sept,  7,  '83. 

•  •••••••• 

"  The  weather  continues  exquisitely  temperate,  yet 
sunny,  ever  since  the  clearing  thunderstorm  of  which  I 
must  have  told  you  in  my  last.  It  is,  I  am  more  and  more 
confirmed  in  believing,  the  most  beautiful  place  I  was  ever 

I  resident  in  :  far  more  so  than  Gressoney  or  even  St.-Pierre 
de  Chartreuse.  You  would  indeed  delight  in  seeing  the 
magnificence  of  the  mountains, — the  range  on  either  side, 
which  morning  and  evening,  in  turn,  transmute  literally  to 
gold, — I  mean  what  I  say.  Their  utterly  bare  ridges  of 
peaks  and  crags  of  all  shape,  quite  naked  of  verdure,  glow 
like  yellow  ore  ;  and,  at  times,  there  is  a  silver  change,  as 

B   the  sun  prevails  or  not. 

I"  The  valley  is  one  green  luxuriance  on  all  sides ; 
Indian  corn,  with  beans,  gourds,  and  even  cabbages,  fiUing 
'■  up  the  interstices  ;  and  the  flowers,  through  not  presenting 
any  novelty  to  my  uninstructed  eyes,  yet  surely  more  large 
and  purely  developed  than  I  remember  to  have  seen 
elsewhere.  For  instance,  the  tiger-lilies  in  the  garden  here 
must  be  above  ten  feet  high,  every  bloom  faultless,  and, 
what  strikes  me  as  peculiar,  every  kaf  on  the  stalk  from 
bottom  to  top  as  perfect  as  if  no  insect  existed  to  spoil 
them  by  a  notch  or  speck.  .  .  . 

"...  Did  I  tell  you  we  had  a  little  captive  fox, — the 
most  engaging  of  little  vixens  ?  To  my  great  joy  she 
has  broken  her  chain  and  escaped,  never  to  be  recaptured. 


S8i  LIFE   AND  LETTERS   OF  [1888- 

I  trust.  The  original  wild  and  untameable  nature  was  to 
be  plainly  discerned  even  in  this  early  stage  of  the  whelp's 
life  :  she  dug  herself,  with  such  baby  feet,  a  huge  hole,  the 
use  of  which  was  evident,  when,  one  day,  she  pounced 
thence  on  a  stray  turkey — allured  within  reach  by  the 
fragments  of  fox's  breakfast, — the  intruder  escaping  with 
the  loss  of  his  tail.  The  creature  came  back  one  night  to 
explore  the  old  place  of  captivity, — ate  some  food  and 
retired.  For  myself, — I  continue  absolutely  well :  I  do 
not  walk  much,  but,  for  more  than  amends,  am  in  the  open 
air  all  day  long." 

No  less  striking  is  a  short  extract  from  a  letter  written 
in  Venice  to  the  same  friend.  Miss  Keep. 

"  Ca'  Alvisi :  Oct.  16,  '83. 

"  Every  morning  at  six,  I  see  the  sun  rise  ;  far  more 
wonderfully,  to  my  mind,  than  his  famous  setting,  which 
everybody  glorifies.  My  bedroom  window  commands  a 
perfect  view  :  the  still  grey  lagune,  the  few  seagulls  flying, 
the  islet  of  S.  Griorgio  in  deep  shadow,  and  the  clouds  in 
a  long  pm'ple  rack,  behind  which  a  sort  of  spirit  of  rose 
burns  up  till  presently  all  the  rims  are  on  fire  with  gold, 
and  last  of  all  the  orb  sends  before  it  a  long  column  of  its 
own  essence  apparently  :  so  my  day  begins." 

"We  feel,  as  we  read  these  late,  and  even  later  words, 
that  the  lyric  imagination  was  renewing  itself  in  the 
incipient  dissolution  of  other  powers.  It  is  the  Browning 
of  Pippa  Passes  who  speaks  in  them. 

He  suffered  less  on  the  whole  during  the  winter  of 
1888-9.  It  was  already  advanced  when  he  returned  to 
England ;  and  the  attacks  of  cold  and  asthma  were  either 


II 


1889]  ROBERT   BROWNING  385 

shorter  or  less  frequent.  He  still  maintained  tliroughout  the 
season  his  old  social  routine,  not  omitting  liis  yearly  visit, 
on  the  anniversary  of  Waterloo,  to  Lord  Albemarle,  its  last 
surviving  veteran.  He  went  for  some  days  to  Oxford 
during  the  commemoration  week,  and  had  for  the  first,  a3 
also  last  time,  the  pleasure  of  Dr.  Jowett's  almost  exclusive 
society  at  his  beloved  Balliol  College.  He  proceeded  with 
his  new  volume  of  poems.  A  short  letter  written  to  Pro- 
fessor Knight,  June  16,  of  which  the  occasion  speaks  for 
itself,  fitly  closes  the  labours  of  his  life ;  for  it  states  his  view  of 
the  position  and  function  of  poetry,  in  one  brief  phrase  which 
might  form  the  text  to  an  exhaustive  treatise  upon  them. 

29,  De  Vere  Gardens,  W. :  June  16,  1889. 
My  dear  Professor  Knight, — I  am  delighted  to  hear 
that  there  is  a  likelihood  of  your  establishing  yourself  in 
Glasgow,  and  illustrating  Literature  as  happily  as  you  have 
expounded  Philosophy  at  St,  Andrews.  It  is  certainly  the 
right  order  of  things  :  Philosophy  first,  and  Poetry,  which 
is  its  highest  outcome,  afterward — and  much  harm  has  been 
done  by  reversing  the  natural  process.  How  capable  you 
are  of  doing  justice  to  the  highest  philosophy  embodied  in 
poetry,  your  various  studies  on  AYordsworth  prove  abun- 
dantly ;  and  for  the  sake  of  both  Literature  and  Philosophy 
I  wish  you  success  with  all  my  heart. 

Believe  me,  dear  Professor  Knight,  yours  very  truly, 

Robert  Browning. 

But  he  experienced,  when  the  time  came,  more  than  his 
habitual  disinclination  for  leaving  home.  A  distinct 
Bhrinking  from  the  fatigue  of  going  to  Italy  now  added 
itself  to  it ;  for  he  had  suffered  when  travelling  back  in  the 
previous  winter,  almost  as  much  as  on  the  outward  journey, 

2  0 


386  LIFE  AND   LETTERS    OF  [1889 

though  he  attributed  the  distress  to  a  different  cause  :  his 
nerves  were,  he  thought,  shaken  by  the  wearing  discomforts 
incidental  on  a  broken  tooth.  He  was  for  the  first  time 
painfully  sensitive  to  the  vibration  of  the  train.  He  had 
told  his  friends,  both  in  Venice  and  London,  that  so  far  as 
he  was  able  to  determine,  he  would  never  return  to  Italy. 
But  it  was  necessary  he  should  go  somewhere,  and  he  had 
no  alternative  plan.  For  a  short  time  in  this  last  summer 
he  entertained  the  idea  of  a  visit  to  Scotland  ;  it  had  indeed 
definitely  shaped  itself  in  his  mind  ;  but  an  incident, 
trivial  in  itself,  though  he  did  not  think  it  so,  destroyed 
the  first  scheme,  and  it  was  then  practically  too  late  to  form 
another.  During  the  second  week  in  August  the  weather 
broke.  There  could  no  longer  be  any  question  of  the 
northward  journey  without  even  a  fixed  end  in  view.  His 
son  and  daughter  had  taken  possession  of  their  new  home, 
the  Palazzo  Rezzonico,  and  were  anxious  to  see  him  and 
Miss  Browning  there  ;  their  wishes  naturally  had  weight. 
The  casting  vote  in  favour  of  Venice  was  given  by  a  letter 
from  Mrs.  Bronson,  proposing  Asolo  as  the  intermediate 
stage.  She  had  fitted  up  for  herself  a  little  summer  retreat 
there,  and  promised  that  her  friends  should,  if  they  joined 
her,  be  also  comfortably  installed.  The  journey  was  this 
time  propitious.  It  was  performed  without  imprudent 
haste,  and  Mr.  Browning  reached  Asolo  unfatigued  and  to 
all  appearance  well. 

He  saw  this,  his  first  love  among  Italian  cities,  at  a 
season  of  the  year  more  favourable  to  its  beauty  than  even 
that  of  his  first  visit ;  yet  he  must  himself  have  been 
surprised  by  the  new  rapture  of  admiration  which  it  created 
ill  him,  and  which  seemed  to  grow  with  his  lengthened  stay. 


1  i  1889]  ROBERT   BROWNING  387 

This  state  of  mind  vras  the  more  striking,  that  new  symptoms 
of  his  physical  decline  were  now  becoming  apparent,  and 
■were  in  themselves  of  a  depressing  kind.^  He  wrote  to  a 
friend  in  England,  that  the  atmosphere  of  Asolo,  far  from 
being  oppressive,  produced  in  him  all  the  effects  of  mountain 
air,  and  he  was  conscious  of  difficulty  of  breathing  when- 
ever he  walked  up  hill.  He  also  suffered,  as  the  season 
advanced,  great  inconvenience  from  cold.  The  rooms 
occupied  by  himself  and  his  sister  were  both  unprovided 
with  fireplaces ;  and  though  the  daily  dinner  with  Mrs. 
Bronson  obviated  the  discomfort  of  the  evenings,  there 
remained  still  too  many  hours  of  the  autumnal  day  in  which 
the  impossibility  of  heating  their  own  little  apartment  must 
have  made  itself  unpleasantly  felt.  The  latter  drawback 
would  have  been  averted  by  the  fulfilment  of  Mr.  Brown- 
ing's first  plan,  to  be  in  Venice  by  the  beginning  of  October, 
and  return  to  the  comforts  of  his  own  home  before  the 
winter  had  quite  set  in  ;  but  one  slight  motive  for  delay 
succeeded  another,  till  at  last  a  more  serious  project  intro- 
duced sufficient  ground  of  detention.  He  seemed  possessed 
by  a  strange  buoyancy — an  almo"^t  feverish  joy  in  life, 
which  blunted  all  sensations  of  physical  distress,  or  helped 
him  to  misinterpret  them.  "When  warned  against  the 
imprudence  of  remaining  where  he  knew  he  suffered  from 

'  [Mrs.  Orr's  statements  as  to  the  poet's  physical  condition 
during  the  last  months  of  his  life  are  left  unchanged.  They  are  not, 
however,  confirmed  by  the  evidence  of  Mr.  R.  Barrett  Browning, 
who  was  in  the  best  position  to  judge,  and  who  bears  emphatic 
testimony  to  the  vigour  and  activity  of  his  father  up  to  tlie  beginning 
of  the  short  final  illness.  He  adds— what  is  certainly  a  noteworthy 
fact — that  vmtil  the  last  illness  he  never  heard  of  his  father  keeping 
in  his  bedroom  because  of  his  health  for  a  single  day — much  less  io 
his  bed.] 


888  LIFE  AND  LETTERS   OF  [1889 

cold,  and  believed,  rightly  or  wrongly,  that  his  asthmatic 
tendencies  were  increased,  he  would  reply  that  he  was  grow- 
ing acclimatized — that  he  was  quite  well.  And,  in  a  fitful 
or  superficial  sense,  he  must  have  been  so. 

His  letters  of  that  period  are  one  continuous  picture, 
glowing  with  his  impressions  of  the  things  which  they 
describe.  The  same  words  will  repeat  themselves  as  the 
same  subject  presents  itself  to  his  pen  ;  but  the  impulse  to 
iteration  scarcely  ever  affects  us  as  mechanical.  It  seems 
always  a  fresh  response  to  some  new  stimulus  to  thought  or 
feeling,  which  he  has  received.  These  reach  him  from 
every  side.  It  is  not  only  the  Asolo  of  this  peaceful  later 
time  which  has  opened  before  him,  but  the  Asolo  of  Pippa 
Passes  and  Sordello  ;  that  which  first  stamped  itself  on  his 
imagination  in  the  echoes  of  the  Court  life  of  Queen 
Catharine,^  and  of  the  barbaric  wars  of  the  Eccelini.  Some 
of  his  letters  dwell  especially  on  these  early  historical 
associations  :  on  the  strange  sense  of  reopening  the  ancient 
chronicle  which  he  had  so  deeply  studied  fifty  years  before. 
The  very  phraseology  of  the  old  Italian  text,  which  I  am 
certain  he  had  never  glanced  at  from  that  distant  time,  is 
audible  in  an  account  of  the  massacre  of  San  Zenone,  the 
scene  of  which  he  has  been  visiting.  To  the  same  corre- 
spondent he  says  that  his  two  hours'  drive  to  Asolo  "  seemed 
to  be  a  dream  ; "  and  again,  after  describing,  or,  as  he 
thinks,  only  trying  to  describe  some  beautiful  feature  of 
the  place,  "  but  it  is  indescribable  I  " 

A  letter  addressed  to  Mrs.  FitzGerald,  October  8,  1889, 
is  in  part  a  fitting  sequel  to  that  which  he  had  writ^'.en  to 
Her  from  the  same  spot,  eleven  years  before. 

»  Catharine  Cornaro,  the  dethroned  queen  of  Cyprus, 


1889]  ROBERT  BROWNING  389 

"...  Fortunately  there  is  little  changed  here  :  my  old 
Albergo, — ruinons  with  earthquake — is  down  and  done  with 
— but  few  novelties  are  observable — except  the  regrettable 
one  that  the  silk  industry  has  been  transported  elsewhere — 
to  Cornuda  and  other  places  nearer  the  main  railway.  No 
more  Pippas — at  least  of  the  silk-winding  sort  I 

"  But  the  pretty  type  is  far  from  extinct. 

"  Autumn  is  beginning  to  paint  the  foliage,  but  thin  it 
as  well ;  and  the  sea  of  fertiUty  all  round  our  height,  which 
a  month  ago  showed  pomegranates  and  figs  and  chestnuts, 
— walnuts  and  apples  all  rioting  together  in  full  glory, — all 
this  is  daily  disappearing.  I  say  nothing  of  the  olive  and 
the  vine.  I  find  the  Turret  rather  the  worse  for  careful 
weeding — the  hawks  which  used  to  build  there  have  been 
"  shot  for  food  " — and  the  echo  is  sadly  curtailed  of  its 
replies  ;  still,  things  are  the  same  in  the  main.  Shall  I 
ever  see  them  again,  when — as  I  suppose — we  leave  for 
Venice  in  a  fortnight  ?  .  .  . " 

In  the  midst  of  this  imaginative  delight  he  carried  into 
his  walks  the  old  keen  habits  of  observation.  He  would 
peer  into  the  hedges  for  what  living  things  were  to  be  found 
there.  He  would  whistle  softly  to  the  lizards  basking  en 
the  low  walls  which  border  the  roads,  to  try  his  old  power 
of  attracting  them. 

On  the  15th  of  October  he  wrote  to  Mrs.  Skirrow,  after 
Bome  preliminary  description : 

Then — such  a  view  over  the  whole  Lombard  plain  ;  not 
a  site  in  view,  or  approximdte  view  at  least,  without  ita 
story.  Autumn  is  now  painting  all  the  abundance  of 
verdure, — figs,  pomegranates,  chestnuts,  and  vines,  and  I 
don't  know  what  else, — all  in  a  wouderfal  confusion, — and 


890  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1889 

now  glowing  with  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow.  Some 
weeks  back,  the  little  town  was  glorified  by  the  visit  of  a 
decent  theatrical  troop  who  played  in  a  theatre  wiside  the 
old  palace  of  Queen  Catharine  Cornaro — utilized  also  as  a 
prison  in  which  I  am  informed  are  at  present  full  five  if 
not  six  malefactors  guilty  of  stealing  gripes,  and  the  like 
enormities.  Well,  the  troop  played  for  a  fortnight  together 
exceedingly  well — high  tragedy  and  low  comedy — and  the 
Btage-box  which  I  occupied  cost  16  francs.  The  theatre 
had  been  out  of  use  for  six  years,  for  we  are  out  of  the  way 
and  only  a  baiting-place  for  a  company  pushing  on  to  Venice. 
In  fine,  we  shall  stay  here  probably  for  a  week  or  more, — 
and  then  proceed  to  Pen,  at  the  Rezzonico  ;  a  month  there, 
and  then  homewards  !  .  .  . 

I  delight  in  finding  that  the  beloved  Husband  and 
precious  friend  manages  to  do  without  the  old  yoke  about 
his  neck,  and  enjoys  himself  as  never  anybody  had  a  better 
right  to  do.  I  continue  to  congratulate  him  on  his  emanci- 
pation and  ourselves  on  a  more  frequent  enjoyment  of  his 
company  in  consequence.^  Give  him  my  true  love  ;  take 
mine,  dearest  friend, — and  my  sister's  love  to  you  both 
goes  with  it. 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

Egbert  BROWNrK'a. 

The  cry  of  "  homewards ! "  now  frequently  recurs  in 
his  letters.  We  find  it  in  one  written  a  week  later  to 
Mr.  G.  M.  Smith,  otherwise  very  expressive  of  his  latest 
condition  of  mind  and  feeling. 

Asolo,  Veneto,  Italia  :  Oct.  22,  '89. 
My  dear  Smith, — I  was  indeed  delighted  to  get  your 
letter  two  days  ago — for  there  are  such  accidents  as  the 
^  Mr.  Skirrow  had  just  resigned  his  post  of  Master  in  Chancery. 


;    1889]  ROBERT  BROWNING  391 

loss  of  a  parcel,  even  when  it  has  been  despatched  from  so 
important  a  place  as  this  city — for  a  regular  city  it  is,  you 
must  know,  with  all  the  rights  of  one, — older  far  than 
Eome,  being  founded  by  the  Euganeans  who  gave  tht^ir 
name  to  the  adjoining  hills.  *'  Fortified "  it  was  once, 
assuredly,  and  the  walls  still  surround  it  most  picturesquely 
though  mainly  in  utter  ruin,  and  you  even  overrate  the 
population,  which  does  not  now  much  exceed  900  souls — 
in  the  city  proper,  that  is — for  the  territory  below  and 
around  contains  some  10,000.  But  we  are  at  the  very 
top  of  things,  garlanded  about,  as  it  were,  with  a  narrow 
line  of  houses, — some  palatial,  such  as  you  would  be  glad 
to  see  in  London, — and  above  all  towers  the  old  dwelling 
of  Queen  Cornaro,  who  was  forced  to  exchange  her  Kingdom 
of  Cyprus  for  this  pretty  but  petty  dominion  where  she  kept 
state  in  a  mimic  Court,  with  Bembo,  afterwards  Cardinal, 
for  her  secretary — who  has  commemorated  the  fact  in  his 
"  Asolani "  or  dialogues  inspired  by  the  place :  and  I  do 
assure  you  that,  after  some  experience  of  beautiful  sights  in 
Italy  and  elsewhere  I  know  nothing  comparable  to  the 
view  from  the  Queen's  tower  and  palace,  still  perfect  in 
every  respect.  "Whenever  you  pay  Pen  and  his  wife  the 
visit  you  are  pledged  to,  *  it  will  go  hard  but  you  spend 
five  hours  in  a  journey  to  Asolo.  The  one  thing  I  am 
disappointed  in  is  to  find  that  the  silk-cultivation  with  all 
the  pretty  girls  who  were  engaged  in  it  are  transported  to 
Cornuda  and  other  places, — nearer  the  railway,  I  suppose  : 
and  to  this  may  be  attributed  the  decrease  in  the  number 
of  inhabitants.  The  weather  when  I  wrote  last  teas  "  blue 
and  blazing — (at  noon-day) — "  but  we  share  in  the  general 
plague  of  rain, — had  a  famous  storm  yesterday  :  while  to-day 
is  blue  and  sunny  as  ever.  Lastly,  for  your  admonition  : 
we  hai'e  a  perfect  telegraphic  communication  ;  and  at  the 
passage  above,  where  I  put  a  *  I  was  interrupted  by  the 


LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1889 

arrival  of  a  telegram  :  thank  you  all  the  same  for  your 
desire  to  relieve  my  anxiety.  And  now,  to  our  immediate 
business — which  is  only  to  keep  thanking  you  for  your 
constant  goodness,  present  and  future  :  do  with  the  book 
just  as  you  will.  I  fancy  it  is  bigger  in  bulk  than  usual. 
As  for  the  "proofs" — I  go  at  the  end  of  the  month  to 
Venice,  whither  you  will  please  to  send  whatever  is  neces- 
sary. ...  I  shall  do  well  to  say  as  Httle  as  possible  of  my 
good  wishes  for  you  and  your  family,  for  it  comes  to  much 
the  same  thing  as  wishing  myself  prosperity  :  no  matter, 
my  sister's  kindest  regards  shall  excuse  mine,  and  I  will 
only  add  that  I  am,  as  ever, 

Affectionately  yours, 

BoBEET  BEowNura. 


ROBERT  BROWNING  893 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

1889 

Proposed  Purchase  of  Land  at  Asolo — Venice — Letter  to  Mr.  G. 
Moulton- Barrett — Lines  to  Edward  Fitzgerald — Letter  to  Miss 
Keep— Illness — Death — Funeral  Ceremonial  at  Venice — Pub- 
lication of  Asolando — Interment  in  Poets'  Corner. 

He  had  said  in  writing  to  Mrs.  FitzGerald,  "Shall  I  ever 
see  them  "  (the  things  he  is  describing)  "  again  ?  "  If  not 
then,  soon  afterwards,  he  conceived  a  plan  which  was  to 
insure  his  doing  so.  On  a  piece  of  ground  belonging  to  the 
old  castle,  stood  the  shell  of  a  house.  The  two  constituted 
one  property  which  the  Municipality  of  Asolo  had  hitherto 
refused  to  sell.  It  had  been  a  dream  of  Mr.  Browning's 
life  to  possess  a  dwelling,  however  small,  in  some  beautiful 
spot,  which  should  place  him  beyond  the  necessity  of 
constantly  seeking  a  new  summer  resort,  and  above  the 
alternative  of  living  at  an  inn,  or  accepting — as  he  some- 
times feared,  abusing — the  hospitality  of  his  friends.  He 
was  suddenly  fascinated  by  the  idea  of  buying  this  piece 
of  ground  ;  and,  with  the  efficient  help  which  his  son 
could  render  dm'ing  his  absence,  completing  the  house, 
which  should  be  christened  Pippa's  Tower.  It  was  evident, 
he  said  in  one  of  his  letters,  that  for  his  few  remaining 
J  ears  his  summer  wanderings  must  always  end  in  Ye  nice. 


894  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1889 

What  could  he  do  better  than  secure  for  himself  this  resting- 
place  by  the  way  ? 

His  offer  of  purchase  was  made  through  Mrs.  Bronson, 
to  Count  Loredano  and  other  important  members  of  the 
municipality,  and  their  personal  assent  to  it  secured.  But 
the  town  council  was  on  the  eve  of  re-election  ;  no  important 
business  could  be  transacted  by  it  till  after  this  event ; 
and  Mr.  Browning  awaited  its  decision  till  the  end  of 
October  at  Asolo,  and  again  throughout  November  in 
Venice,  without  fully  understanding  the  delay.  The  vote 
proved  favourable ;  but  the  night  on  which  it  was  taken 
was  that  of  his  death. 

The  consent  thus  given  would  have  been  only  a  first 
step  towards  the  accomplishment  of  his  wish.  It  was 
necessary  that  it  should  be  ratified  by  the  Prefecture  of 
Treviso,  in  the  district  of  which  Asolo  lies  ;  and  Mr. 
Barrett  Browning,  who  had  determined  to  carry  on  the 
negotiations,  met  with  subsequent  opposition  in  the  higher 
council.     This,  however,  was  eventually  overcome. 

A  comprehensive  interest  attaches  to  one  more  letter 
of  the  Asolo  time.  It  was  addressed  to  Mr.  Browning's 
brother-in-law,  Mr.  George  Moulton-Barrett. 

Asolo,  Veneto :  Oct.  22,  '89. 

My  dear  George, — It  was  a  great  pleasure  to  get  your 
kind  letter ;  though  after  some  delay.  We  were  not  in 
the  Tyrol  this  year,  but  have  been  for  six  weeks  or  more 
in  this  Httle  place  which'  strikes  me, — as  it  did  fifty  years 
ago,  which  is  something  to  say,  considering  that,  properly 
speaking,  it  was  the  first  spot  of  Italian  soil  I  ever  set  foot 
upon — having  proceeded  to  Venice  by  sea — and  thence  here. 


1889]  ROBERT   BROWNING  395 

It  is  an  ancient  city,  older  than  Rome,  and  the  scene  of 
Queen  Catherine  Cornaro's  exile,  where  she  held  a  mock 
court,  with  all  its  attendants,  on  a  miniature  scale  ;  Bembo, 
afterwards  Cardinal,  being  her  secretary.  Her  palace  is 
still  above  us  all,  the  old  fortifications  surround  the  hill- 
top, and  certain  of  the  houses  are  stately — though  the 
population  is  not  above  1,000  souls  :  the  province  contains 
many  more  of  course.  But  the  immense  charm  of  the 
surrounding  country  is  indescribable — I  have  never  seen 
its  like — the  Alps  on  one  side,  the  Asolan  mountains  all 
round, — and  opposite,  the  vast  Lombard  plain, — with  indi- 
cations of  Venice,  Padua,  and  the  other  cities,  visible  to  a 
good  eye  on  a  clear  day ;  while  evtrywhere  are  sites  of 
battles  and  sieges  of  bygone  days,  described  in  full  by  the 
historians  of  the  Middle  Ages. 

We  have  a  valued  friend  here,  Mrs.  Bronson,  who  for 
years  has  been  our  hostess  at  Venice,  and  now  is  in 
possession  of  a  house  here  (built  into  the  old  city  wall) — ■ 
she  was  induced  to  choose  it  through  what  I  have  said 
about  the  beauties  of  the  place  :  and  through  her  care  and 
kindness  we  are  comfortably  lodged  close  by.  We  think 
of  leaving  in  a  week  or  so  for  Venice — guests  of  Pen  and 
his  wife  ;  and  after  a  short  stay  with  them  we  shall  return 
to  London.  Pen  came  to  see  us  for  a  couple  of  days  :  I 
was  hardly  prepared  for  his  surprise  and  admiration,  which 
quite  equalled  my  own  and  that  of  my  sister.  All  is  happily 
well  with  them — their  palazzo  excites  the  wonder  of  every- 
body, so  great  is  Pen's  cleverness,  and  extemporised  archi- 
tectural knowledge,  as  apparent  in  all  he  has  done  there  ; 
why,  ivhy  will  you  not  go  and  see  him  there  ?  He  and 
his  wife  are  very  hospitable  and  receive  many  visitors- 
Have  I  told  you  that  there  was  a  desecrated  chapel  which 
he  has  restored  in  honour  of  his  mother — putting  up  there 
ihe  inscription  by  Tommaseo  now  above  Casa  Guidi  ? 


S96  LIFE  AND   LETTERS   OF  [1889  iJ 

Fannie  is  all  you  say, — and  most  dear  and  precious  to 
us  all.  .  ,  .  Pen's  medal,  to  which  you  refer,  is  awarded 
to  him  in  spite  of  his  written  renunciation  of  any  sort  of 
wish  to  contend  for  a  prize.  He  will  now  resume  painting 
and  sculpture — havinij  been  necessarily  occupied  with  the 
superintendence  of  his  workmen — a  matter  capitally 
manas^ed,  I  am  told.  For  the  rest,  both  Sarianna  and 
myself  are  very  well ;  I  have  just  sent  off  my  new  volume 
of  verses  for  publication.  The  complete  edition  of  thf; 
works  of  E.  B.  B.  begins  in  a  few  days. 

The  second  part  of  this  letter  is  very  forcibly  written, 
and,  in  a  certain  sense,  more  important  than  the  first ; 
but  I  suppress  it  by  the  desire  of  Mr.  Browning's  sister 
and  son,  and  in  complete  concurrence  with  their  judgement 
in  the  matter.  It  was  a  systematic  defence  of  the  anger 
aroused  in  him  by  a  lately  published  reference  to  his  wife's 
death ;  and  though  its  reasonings  were  unanswerable  as 
applied  to  the  causes  of  his  emotion,  they  did  not  touch 
the  manner  in  which  it  had  been  displayed.  The  incident 
was  one  which  deserved  only  to  be  forgotten  ;  and  if  an 
injudicious  act  had  not  preserved  its  memory,  no  word  of 
mine  should  recall  it.  Since,  however,  it  has  been  thought 
fit  to  include  the  Lines  to  Edward  Fitzgerald  in  a  widely 
circulated  Bibliography  of  Mr.  Browning's  Works,^  I  owe 

•  That  contained  in  Mr.  Sharp's  "  Life."  A  still  more  recent 
publication  gives  the  lines  in  full.  [In  fairness  to  FitzGerald,  it 
should  be  said  that  the  words  which  provoked  this  outburst,  though 
vmsuitable  for  public  utterance — for  which  they  were  not  intended- 
were  meant  merely  as  a  critical  opinion  of  Mrs.  Browning's  poetry, 
and  not  in  any  sense  to  refer  to  her  life  or  character.  Browning's 
annoyance  was  natural  enough,  but  it  was  due  partly  to  misunder- 
standing  and  partly  to  an  editor's  oversight,  for  which  prompt 
apology  was  made.] 


1889]  ROBERT  BROWNING  397 

it  to  him  to  say — what  I  believe  is  only  known  to  his 
sister  and  myself — that  there  was  a  moment  in  which  he 
regretted  those  lines,  and  would  willingly  have  withdrawn 
them.  This  was  the  period,  unfortunately  short,  which 
intervened  between  his  sending  them  to  the  AthencBum, 
and  their  appearance  there.  When  once  public  opinion 
had  expressed  itself  upon  them  in  its  two  extreme  forma 
of  sympathy  and  condemnation,  the  pugnacity  of  his  mind 
found  support  in  both,  and  regret  was  silenced  if  not 
destroyed.  In  so  far  as  his  published  words  remained 
open  to  censure,  I  may  also,  without  indelicacy,  urge  one 
more  plea  in  his  behalf.  That  which  to  the  merely 
sympathetic  observer  appeared  a  subject  for  disapprobation, 
perhaps  disgust,  had  affected  him  with  the  directness  of  a 
sharp  physical  blow.  He  spoke  of  it,  and  for  hours,  even 
days,  was  known  to  feel  it,  as  such.  The  events  of  that 
distant  past,  which  he  had  lived  down,  though  never 
forgotten,  had  flashed  upon  him  from  the  words  which 
80  unexpectedly  met  his  eye,  in  a  vividness  of  remembrance 
which  was  reality.  *'  I  felt  as  if  she  had  died  yesterday," 
he  said  some  days  later  to  a  friend,  in  half  deprecation, 
half  denial,  of  the  too  great  fierceness  of  his  reaction.  He 
only  recovered  his  balance  in  striking  the  counter-blow. 
That  he  could  be  thus  affected  at  an  age  usually 
destructive  of  the  more  violent  emotions,  is  part  of 
the  mystery  of  those  closing  days  which  had  already 
overtaken  him. 

By  the  first  of  November  he  was  in  Venice  with  hia 
son  and  daughter ;  and  during  the  three  following  weeks 
was  apparently  well,  though  a  physician  whom  he  met  at  a 
iinner  party,  and  to  whom  he  had  half  jokingly  given  hia 


398  LIFE   AND   LEITERS   OF  [1889 

palse  to  feel,  had  learned  from  it  that  his  days  were 
numbered.  He  wrote  to  Miss  Keep  on  the  9th  of  the 
month  : 

*•  .  .  .  Mrs.  Bronson  has  bought  a  house  at  Asolo,  and 
beautified  it  indeed, — niched  as  it  is  in  an  old  tower  of  the 
fortifications  still  partly  surrounding  the  city  (for  a  city  it 
is),  and  eighteen  towers,  more  or  less  ruinous,  are  still  dis- 
coverable there  :  it  is  indeed  a  delightful  place.  Mean- 
time, to  go  on, — we  came  here,  and  had  a  pleasant  welcome 
from  our  hosts — who  are  truly  magnificently  lodged  in 
this  vast  palazzo  which  my  son  has  really  shown  himself  fit 
to  possess,  so  surprising  are  his  restorations  and  improve- 
ments :  the  whole  is  all  but  complete,  decorated, — that  is, 
renewed  admirably  in  all  respects. 

"  "What  strikes  me  as  most  noteworthy  is  the  cheer- 
fulness and  comfort  of  the  huge  rooms. 

"  The  building  is  warmed  throughout  by  a  furnace  and 
pipes. 

"  Yesterday,  on  the  Lido,  the  heat  was  hardly  en- 
durable :  bright  sunshine,  blue  sky, — snow-tipped  Alps  in 
the  distance.  No  place,  I  think,  ever  suited  my  needs, 
bodily  and  intellectual,  so  well. 

"  The  first  are  satisfied — I  am  quite  well,  every  breathing 
inconvenience  gone :  and  as  for  the  latter,  I  got  through 
whatever  had  given  me  trouble  in  London.  ..." 

But  it  was  winter,  even  in  Venice,  and  one  day  began 
with  an  actual  fog.  He  insisted,  notwithstanding,  on 
taking  his  usual  walk  on  the  Lido.  He  caught  a  bronchial 
cold  of  which  the  symptoms  were  aggravated  not  only  by 
the  asthmatic  tendency,  but  by  what  proved  to  be  ex- 
haustion of  the  heart ;  and  believing  as  usual  that  his  liver 


18  89  y 


=^-'nen/LvaUferc^--k-^c~ 


1889]  ROBERT   BROWNING  399 

alone  was  at  fault,  he  took  little  food,  and  refused  wine 
altogether.^ 

He  did  not  yield  to  the  sense  of  illness  ;  he  did  not 
keep  his  bed.  Some  feverish  energy  must  have  supported 
him  through  this  avoidance  of  every  measure  which  might 
have  afforJed  even  temporary  strength  or  relief.  On 
Friday,  the  29th,  he  wrote  to  a  friend  in  London  that  he 
had  waited  thus  long  for  the  final  answer  from  Asolo,  but 
would  wait  no  longer.  He  would  start  for  England,  if 
possible,  on  the  Wednesday  or  Thursday  of  the  following 
week.  It  was  true  "  he  had  caught  a  cold  ;  he  felt  sadly 
asthmatic,  scarcely  fit  to  travel ;  but  he  hoped  for  the  best, 
and  would  write  again  soon."  He  wrote  again  the  follow- 
ing day,  declaring  himself  better.  He  had  been  punished, 
he  said,  for  long-standing  neglect  of  his  "  provoking 
liver ; "  but  a  simple  medicine,  which  he  had  often  taken 
before,  had  this  time  also  relieved  the  oppression  of  his 
chest ;  his  friend  was  not  to  be  uneasy  about  him  ;  "  it  was 
in  his  nature  to  get  into  scrapes  of  this  kind,  but  he  always 
managed,  somehow  or  other,  to  extricate  himself  from  them." 
He  concluded  with  fresh  detaUs  of  his  hopes  and  plans. 

The  following  account  of  the  final  illness  has  been 
furnished  by  Mr.  R.  Barrett  Browning,  who,  with  his  wife, 
was  present  during  the  whole  time,^  and  who  can  therefore 

'  He  always  declined  food  when  he  was  unwell ;  and  maintained 
that  in  this  respect  the  instinct  of  animals  was  far  more  just  than 
the  idea  often  prevailing  among  human  beings  that  a  failing  appetite 
should  be  assisted  or  coerced. 

*  [Mrs.  Orr  mentions  a  Miss  Evelyn  Barclay  (since  Mrs.  Douglas 
Giles)  as  having  been  also  present  at  the  time  as  a  guest,  and  as 
having  assisted  in  the  nursing  until  the  trained  nurses  arrived. 
She  then  left  for  England.] 


400  LIFE  AND  LETTERS   OF  [1883 

correct  with  authority  the  various  inexactnesses  which  have 
appeared  in  previous  narratives.  Mr.  Browning  testifies 
emphatically  to  the  general  vigour  and  activity  of  his  father 
during  the  last  year  of  his  life,  and  almost  to  the  very  end. 

"  Just  before  his  last  illness  his  health  appeared  to  be  as 
he  described  it  in  the  last  letter  just  quoted  :  '  I  am  quite 
well,  every  breatiiing  inconvenience  gone.'  This  incon- 
venience was  caused  by  fog,  and  he  only  suffered  from  it 
in  London,  where  his  throat  was  frequently  irritated  after 
much  reading  aloud  in  foggy  weather. 

"  At  an  early  stage  of  his  last  illness,  when  the  doctor 
first  saw  him,  he  was  up  and  dressed,  standing  near  the  fire 
in  his  sitting-room.  He  assured  the  doctor  that  his  liver 
was  out  of  order,  but  Dr.  Cini  pronounced  it  to  be  bronchitis, 
and  told  me  later  that  the  heart's  action  was  irregular.  He 
insisted  on  his  going  to  bed,  and  we  then  persuaded  him  to 
change  his  room  for  one  upstairs,  in  order  to  have  him  near 
us.^  I  was  with  him  when  he  walked  quickly  up  the  three 
long  flights  of  steps.  He  was  not  carried  up.  He  went  to 
bed  without  assistance,  but  unwillingly,  and  said  to  me 
more  than  once  that  if  only  he  were  allowed  to  walk  about 
in  the  room  he  would  soon  be  better.  It  is  not  the  case 
that  he  suffered  from  attacks  of  faintness.  He  was  strong, 
physically,  to  the  last.  About  two  hours  before  the  end  he 
was  unconscious,  and  death  came  with  a  violent  heaving  of 
his  big  chest  as  he  lay  otherwise  motionless.  There  was  no 
pain.  I  believe  the  cause  of  the  heart  trouble  to  have  been 
hardening  of  the  arteries." 

The  end  came  two  hours  before  midnight  on  Thursday, 

1  The  lower  floor  had  originally  been  set  apart  for  his  use,  Mr. 
fend  Mrs.  E.  B.  Browning  occupying  the  upper  storej. 


If   1889]  ROBERT  BROWNING  401 

December  12.  So  late  as  the  precedinij  day,  when  a  consul- 
tation took  place  between  Dr.  Cini,  Dr.  da  Vigua,  and  Dr. 
Minich,  the  opinion  had  been  expressed  that  recovery  was 
still  possible,  though  not  within  the  bounds  of  probability. 

He  had  been  a  good  patient.  He  took  food  and 
medicine  whenever  they  were  offered  to  hiin.  Doctors  and 
nurses  became  alike  warmly  interested  in  him.  His 
favourite  among  the  latter  was,  I  think,  the  Venetian,  a 
widow,  Mariiherita  Fiori,  a  simple  kindly  creature  who  had 
known  much  sorrow.  To  her  he  said,  about  five  hours 
before  the  end,  "  I  feel  much  worse.  I  know  now  that  I 
must  die."  He  had  shown  at  intervals  a  perception, 
even  conviction,  of  his  danger ;  but  the  excitement 
of  the  brain,  caused  by  exhaastion  on  the  one  hand 
and  the  necessary  stimulants  on  the  other,  must  have 
precluded  all  systematic  consciousness  of  approaching 
death.  He  repeatedly  assured  his  family  that  he  was  not 
suffering. 

A  painful  and  urgent  question  now  presented  itself  for 
solution :  Where  should  his  body  find  its  last  rest  ?  He 
had  said  to  his  sister  in  the  foregoing  summer,  that  he 
wished  to  be  buried  wherever  he  might  die :  if  in  England, 
with  his  mother  ;  if  in  France,  with  his  father  ;  if  in  Italy, 
with  his  wife.  Circumstances  all  pointed  to  his  removal 
to  Florence  ;  but  a  recent  decree  had  prohibited  further 
interment  in  the  English  Cemetery  there,  and  the  town  had 
no  power  to  rescind  it.  When  this  was  known  in  Venice, 
that  city  begged  for  itself  the  privilege  of  retaining  the 
illustrious  guest,  and  rendering  him  the  last  honours.  For 
the  moment  the  idea  even  recommended  itself  to  Mr. 
Browning's  son.      But  he    felt    bound    to   make  a  last 

2  D 


402  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1889 

effort  in  the  direction  of  the  burial  at  Florence ;  and 
was  about  to  despatch  a  telegram,  in  which  he  invoked 
the  mediation  of  Lord  Dufferin,  when  all  difficulties  were 
laid  at  rest  by  a  message  from  the  Dean  of  West- 
minster, conveying  his  assent  to  an  interment  in  the 
Abbey .^  He  had  already  telegraphed  for  information  con- 
cerning the  date  of  the  funeral,  with  a  view  to  the  memorial 
service,  which  he  intended  to  hold  on  the  same  day.  Nor 
would  tlic  further  honour  have  remained  for  even  twenty- 
four  hoars  ungranted,  because  unasked,  but  for  the  belief 
prevailing  among  Mr.  Browning's  friends  that  there  was  no 
room  for  its  acceptance. 

Meanwhile,  in  Venice  it  had  been  necessary  to  provide 
for  the  more  immediate  removal  of  the  body.  Local 
custom  forbade  its  retention  after  the  lapse  of  two  days 
and  nights  ;  and  only  in  view  of  the  special  circumstances 
of  the  case  could  a  short  respite  be  granted  to  the  family. 
The  tribute  paid  to  the  great  poet  by  the  people  among 
whom  he  had  lived  so  large  a  part  of  his  life,  and  in  whose 
midst  he  had  died,  is  described  as  follows  (on  the  basis 
of  Mrs.  Orr's  narrative)  by  Mr.  R.  Barrett  Browning : 

"A  public  funeral  was   offered  by   the   municipality, 

which   in   a   modified   form   was   gratefully   accepted.     A 

private  service,  conducted  by  the  British  Chaplain,  was  held 

in  one  of  the  halls  of  the  Eezzonico.     It  was  attended  by 

the  Syndic  of  Venice  and  the  chief  city  authorities,  as  well 

as  by  officers  of  the  Army  and  Navy.     Municipal  Guards 

1  [Inquiries  had  been  spontaneously  made  by  the  poet's  friends 
and  admirers  in  England,  and  to  this  extent  the  Dean's  answer  was 
an  "  assent ;  "  but  it  would  be  more  accurately  described  as  an  offer, 
and  was  characterized  as  such  by  the  Dean  himself.  The  poet'd 
family  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  proposal.] 


1889]  ROBERT   BROWNING  403 

lined  the  entrance  of  the  Palace,  and  a  Guard  of  Honour 
consisting  of  City  Firemen  in  full  dress  stood  flanking  the 
coffin  during  the  service,  which  was  attended  by  friends  and 
many  residents.  The  subsequent  passage  to  the  mortuary 
island  of  San  Michele  was  organized  by  the  City,  and  when 
the  service  had  been  performed  the  coffin  was  carried  by 
firemen  to  the  massive  and  highly  decorated  funeral  barge, 
on  which  it  was  guarded  during  the  transit  by  four 
"  Uscieri "  in  gala  dress,  two  sergeants  of  the  Municipal 
Guard,  and  two  firemen  bearing  torches.  The  remainder 
of  these  followed  in  their  boats.  The  funeral  barge  was 
slowly  towed  by  a  steam  launch  of  the  Eojal  Navy.  The 
chief  officers  of  the  municipality,  the  family,  and  many 
others  in  a  crowd  of  gondolas,  completed  the  procession. 
San  Michele  was  reached  as  the  sun  was  setting,  when  the 
firemen  again  received  their  burden  and  bore  it  to  the 
principal  mortuary  chapel." 

When  Pauline  first  appeared,  the  Author  had  received, 
he  never  learned  from  whom,  a  sprig  of  laurel  enclosed  with 
this  quotation  from  the  poem, 

Trust  in  signs  and  omens. 

Very  beautiful  garlands  were  now  piled  about  his  bier, 
offerings  of  friendship  and  affection.  Conspicaous  among 
these  was  the  ceremonial  structure  of  metallic  foliage  and 
porcelain  flowers,  inscribed  "  Venczia  a  Roherto  Broiniinq,^* 
which  represented  the  Municipality  of  Venice.  On  the 
coffin  lay  one  comprehensive  symbol  of  the  fulfilled  pro- 
phecy :  a  wreath  of  laurel-leaves  which  his  son  had  placed 
there. 


404  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1889 

A  final  honour  was  decreed  to  the  great  English  Poet 
by  the  city  in  which  he  had  died  ;  the  affixing  of  a  memorial 
tablet  to  the  outer  wall  of  the  Rezzonico  Palace.  Since  these 
pages  were  first  written,  the  tablet  has  been  placed.  It 
bears  the  following  inscription  : 

A 

EOBERTO  BROWNING 

MOETO    DT    QUESTO    PALAZZO 

IL   12   DICEIIBRE    1889 

VENEZIA 

POSE 

Below  this,  in  the  right-hand   corner  appear  two  lines 
Belected  from  his  works  : 

Open  my  heart  and  you  will  see 
Graved  inside  of  it,  "  Italy." 

Nor  were  these  the  only  expressions  of  Italian  respect 
and  sympathy.  The  municipality  of  Florence  sent  its 
message  of  condolence.  Asolo,  poor  in  all  but  memories, 
itself  bore  the  expenses  of  a  mural  tablet  for  the  house 
which  Mr.  Browning  had  occupied.  It  is  now  known  that 
Signor  Crispi  would  have  appealed  to  Parliament  to  rescind 
the  exclusion  from  the  Florentine  cemetery,  if  the  motive 
for  doing  so  had  been  less  promptly  removed. 

Mr.  Browning's  own  country  had  indeed  opened  a  way 
for  the  reunion  of  the  husband  and  wife.  The  idea  had 
rapidly  shaped  itself  in  the  public  mind  that,  since  they 
might  not  rest  side  by  side  in  Italy,  they  should  be  placed 
together  among  the  great  of  their  own  land  ;  and  it  was 
understood  that  the  Dean  would  sanction  Mrs.  Browning's 


1889]  ROBERT  BROWNING  405 

interment  in  the  Abbey,  if  a  formal  application  to  this  end 
were  made  to  him.  But  Mr.  Barrett  Browning  could  not 
reconcile  himself  to  the  thought  of  disturbing  his  mother's 
grave,  so  long  consecrated  to  Florence  by  her  warm  love 
and  by  its  grateful  remembrance  ;  and  at  the  desire  of  both 
surviving  members  of  the  family  the  suggestion  was  set 
aside. 

Two  days  after  his  temporary  funeral,  privately  and 
at  night,  all  that  remained  of  Robert  Browning  was 
conveyed  to  the  railway  station ;  and  thence,  by  a  trusted 
servant,  to  England.  The  family  followed  within  twenty- 
four  hours,  having  made  the  necessary  preparations  for  a 
long  absence  from  Venice ;  and,  travelling  with  the 
utmost  speed,  arrived  in  London  on  the  same  day.  The 
house  in  De  Vere  Gardens  received  its  master  once 
more. 

Asolando  was  published  on  the  day  of  Mr.  Browning's 
death.  The  report  of  his  illness  had  quickened  public 
interest  in  the  forthcoming  work,  and  his  son  had  the 
satisfaction  of  telling  him  of  its  already  realized  success, 
while  he  could  still  receive  a  warm,  if  momentary,  pleasure 
from  the  intelligence.  The  circumstances  of  its  appearance 
place  it  beyond  ordinary  criticism  ;  they  place  it  beyond 
even  an  impartial  analysis  of  its  contents.  It  includes 
one  or  two  poems  to  which  we  would  gladly  assign  a 
much  earlier  date  ;  I  have  been  told  on  good  authority 
that  we  may  do  this  in  regard  to  one  of  them.^     It  is 

*  [The  Cardinal  and  the  Dog  was  written,  like  the  Pied  Piper,  for 
Willie  Macready.  See  letter  to  F.  J.  Furnivall,  Oct.  1,  1886, 
printed  by  Wise  (i.  76).] 


406  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF  [1883 

difficult  to  refer  the  Epilogue  to  a  coherent  mood  of  any 
period  of  its  author's  life.^  It  is  certain,  however,  that 
by  far  the  greater  part  of  the  little  volume  was  written 
in  1888-89,  and  I  believe  all  that  is  most  serious  in  it 
was  the  product  of  the  later  year.  It  possesses  for  many 
readers  the  inspiration  of  farewell  words ;  for  all  of  us 
it  has  their  pathos. 

He  was  buried  in  Westminster  Abbey,  in  Poets'  Corner, 
on  the  31st  of  December,  1889.  In  this  act  of  national 
recognition  England  claimed  her  own.  A  densely  packed, 
reverent  and  sympathetic  crowd  of  his  countrymen  and 
countrywomen  assisted  at  the  consignment  of  the  dead 
poet  to  his  historic  resting-place.  Three  verses  of  Mrs. 
Browning's  poem,  The  Sleep,  set  to  music  by  Dr.  Bridge, 
were  sung  for  the  first  time  on  this  occasion. 

^  [I  find  it  difficult  to  agree  with  this  criticism.  A  remarkable 
testimony  to  its  inspiring  quality  was  borne  by  the  troops  in  South 
Africa  during  the  war.  A  chance  quotation  of  some  lines  from  it 
during  an  entertainment  in  camp  produced  an  instant  demand  for 
its  repetition,  and  over  three  hundred  men  stayed  behind  to  take  it 
down  verbatim  from  dictation  {Spectator,  Oct.  25, 1902).] 


I 


ROBERT  BROWNING  401 


CONCLUSION 

A  TEW  words  must  still  be  said  upon  that  purport  and 
tendency  of  Robert  Browning's  work,  which  has  been 
defined  by  a  few  persons,  and  felt  by  very  many,  as  his 
"  message." 

The  definition  has  been  disputed  on  the  ground  of 
Art.  "We  are  told  by  Mr.  Sharp,  though  in  somewhat 
different  words,  that  the  poet,  qua  poet,  cannot  deliver  a 
"  message  "  such  as  directly  addresses  itself  to  the  intel- 
lectual or  moral  sense  ;  since  his  special  appeal  to  us  lies 
not  through  the  substance,  but  through  the  form,  or  pre- 
sentment, of  what  he  has  had  to  say ;  since,  therefore 
(by  implication),  in  claiming  for  it  an  intellectual — as 
distinct  from  an  sesthetic — character,  we  ignore  its  function 
as  poetry. 

It  is  difficult  to  argue  justly,  where  the  question  at 
issue  turns  practically  on  the  meaning  of  a  word.  ^Ir. 
Sharp  would,  I  think,  be  the  first  to  admit  this ;  and  it 
appears  to  me  that,  in  the  present  case,  he  so  formulates 
his  theory  as  to  satisfy  his  artistic  conscience,  and  yet 
leave  room  for  the  recognition  of  that  intellectual  quality 
so  peculiar  to  Mr.  Browning's  verse.  But  what  one 
member  of  the  {esthetic  school  may  express  with  a  certain 
reserve  is  proclaimed  unreservedly  by  many  more  ;  and 
Mr.  Sharp  must  forgive  me,  if  for  the  moment  I  regard 


408  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

him  as  one  of  these  ;  and  if  I  oppose  his  arguments  in 
the  words  of  another  poet  and  critic  of  poetry,  whose 
claim  to  the  double  title  is  I  believe  undisputed — Mr. 
Roden  Noel.  I  quote  from  an  unpublished  fragment  of 
a  published  article  on  Mr.  Sharp's  Life  of  Browning. 

"  Browning's  message  is  an  integral  part  of  himself 
as  writer ;  (whether  as  poet,  since  we  agree  that  he  is 
poet,  were  surely  a  too  curious  and  vain  discussion ;)  but 
some  of  his  finest  things  assuredly  are  the  outcome  of 
certain  very  definite  personal  convictions.  '  The,  question,'' 
Mr.  Sharp  says,  'ts  not  one  of  weighty  message,  hut  of  artistic 
presentation.^  There  seems  to  be  no  true  contrast  here. 
'  The  primary  concern  of  the  artist  must  be  with  his  vehicle 
of  expression'' — no — not  the  primary  concern.  Since  the 
critic  adds — (for  a  poet)  '  this  vehicle  is  language  emotioned 
to  the  white  heat  of  rhythmic  music  by  impassioned  thought  or 
sensation.''  Exactly — '  thought '  it  may  be.  Now  part  of 
this  same  '  thought '  in  Browning  is  the  message.  And 
therefore  it  is  part  of  his  '  primary  concern.'  '  It  is  ivith 
presentment^  says  Mr.  Sharp,  '  that  the  artist  has  funda- 
mentally to  concern  himself.''  Granted  :  but  it  must  surely 
be  presentment  of  something.  ...  I  do  not  understand 
how  to  separate  the  substance  from  the  form  in  true 
poetry.  If  the  message  be  not  well  delivered,  it  does 
not  constitute  literature.  But  if  it  be  well  delivered, 
the  primary  concern  of  the  poet  lay  with  the  message 
after  all  1 " 

More  cogent  objection  has  been  taken  to  the  character 
of  the  "message  "  as  judged  from  a  philosophic  point  of 
view.  It  is  the  expression  or  exposition  of  a  vivid  a  p)riori 
religious  faith   confirmed  by  positive  experience  ;    and   iu 


ROBERT  BROWNING 

reflects  as  sucli  a  double  order  of  thought,  in  which  totally 
opposite  mental  activities  are  often  forced  into  co-operation 
with  each  other,  Mr.  Sharp  says,  this  time  quoting  from 
Mr.  Mortimer  {Scottish  Art  Review,  December  1889)  : 

"  His  position  in  regard  to  the  thought  of  the  age  is 
paradoxical,  if  not  inconsistent.  He  is  in  advance  of  it  in 
every  respect  but  one,  the  most  important  of  all,  the  matter 
of  fundamental  principles  ;  in  these  he  is  behind  it.  His 
processes  of  thought  are  often  scientific  in  their  precision  of 
analysis ;  the  sudden  conclusion  which  he  imposes  upon 
them  is  transcendental  and  inept." 

This  statement  is  relatively  true.  Mr.  Browning's  posi- 
tive reasonings  often  do  end  with  transcendental  conclusions. 
They  also  start  from  transcendental  premisses.  However 
closely  his  mind  might  follow  the  visible  order  of  experience, 
he  never  lost  what  was  for  him  the  consciousness  of  a 
Supreme  Eternal  Will  as  having  existed  before  it ;  he  never 
lost  the  vision  of  an  intelligent  First  Cause,  as  underlying 
all  minor  systems  of  causation.  But  such  weaknesses  as 
were  involved  in  his  logical  position  are  inherent  to  all  the 
higher  forms  of  natural  theology  when  once  it  has  been 
erected  into  a  dogma.  As  maintained  by  Mr.  Browning, 
this  belief  held  a  saving  clause,  which  removed  it  from  all 
dogmatic,  hence  all  admissible  grounds  of  controversy  :  the 
more  definite  or  concrete  conceptions  of  which  it  conBista 
possessed  no  finality  for  even  his  own  mind  ;  they  repre- 
sented for  him  an  absolute  truth  in  contingent  relations  to 
it.  No  one  felt  more  strongly  than  he  the  contradictions 
involved  in  any  conceivable  system  of  Divine  creation  and 
government.      No   one  knew   better  that  every  act  and 


410  LIFE  AND   LETTERS   OF 

motive  which  we  attribute  to  a  Supreme  Being  ia  a  virtual 
negation  of  His  existence.  He  believed  nevertheless  that 
such  a  Being  exists  ;  and  he  accepted  His  reflection  in  the 
mirror  of  the  human  consciousness,  as  a  necessarily  false 
image,  but  one  which  bears  witness  to  the  truth. 

His  works  rarely  indicate  this  condition  of  feeling ;  it 
was  not  often  apparent  in  his  conversation.  The  faith 
which  he  had  contingently  accepted  became  absolute  for 
him  from  aU  practical  points  of  view  ;  it  became  subject  to 
all  the  conditions  of  his  humanity.  On  the  ground  of 
abstract  logic  he  was  always  ready  to  disavow  it ;  the  trans- 
cendental imagination  and  the  acknowledged  limits  of 
human  reason  claimed  the  last  word  in  its  behalf.  This 
philosophy  of  religion  is  distinctly  suggested  in  the  fifth 
parable  of  FerishtaK's  Fancies. 

But  even  in  defending  what  remains,  from  the  most 
widely  accepted  point  of  view,  the  validity  of  Mr.  Brown- 
ing's "  message,"  we  concede  the  fact  that  it  is  most  power- 
ful when  conveyed  in  its  least  explicit  form  ;  for  then  alone 
does  it  bear,  with  the  full  weight  of  his  poetic  utterance,  on 
the  minds  to  which  it  is  addressed.  His  challenge  to  Faith 
and  Hope  imposes  itself  far  less  through  any  intellectual 
plea  which  he  can  advance  in  its  support,  than  through  the 
unconscious  testimony  of  all  creative  genius  to  the  marvel 
of  conscious  life  ;  through  the  passionate  affirmation  of  his 
poetic  and  human  nature,  not  only  of  the  goodness  and  the 
beauty  of  that  life,  but  of  its  reality  and  its  persistence. 

We  are  told  by  Mr.  Sharp  that  a  new  star  appeared  in 
Orion  on  the  night  on  which  Robert  Browning  died.  The 
alleged  fact  is  disproved  by  the  statement  of  the  Astronomer 
Royal,  to  whom  it  has  been  submitted  ;  but  it  would  have 


ROBERT  BROWNING  411 

been  a  beautiful  symbol  of  translation,  such  as  affectiouate 
fancy  might  gladly  cherish  if  it  were  true.  It  is  indeed 
true  that  on  that  twelfth  of  December,  a  vivid  centre  of 
light  and  warmth  was  extinguished  upon  our  earth.  The 
clouded  brightness  of  many  lives  bears  witness  to  the  poet 
spirit  which  has  departed,  the  glowing  human  presence 
which  has  passed  away.  We  mourn  the  poet  whom  we 
have  lost  far  less  than  we  regret  the  man  :  for  he  had  done 
his  appointed  work ;  and  that  work  remains  to  us.  But 
the  two  beings  were  in  truth  inseparable.  The  man  is 
always  present  in  the  poet ;  the  poet  was  dominant  in  the 
man.  This  fact  can  never  be  absent  from  our  loving  re- 
membrance of  him.  No  just  estimate  of  his  life  and 
character  will  fail  to  give  it  weight. 


APPENDIX  I 

THE  POETKAITS  OF  EOBEET  BEOWlONa 

The  following  is  a  list  of  the  portraits  (other  than  photographs) 
of  Robert  Browning,  of  which  I  have  been  able  to  find  any  mention. 
It  is  compiled  mainly  from  (1)  references  in  Mrs.  Browning's 
letters;  (2)  a  series  of  articles  by  Mr.  W.  M.  Rossetti  in  the 
Magazine  of  Art  for  1890  (the  dates  of  which  require  some  cor- 
rection) ;  (3)  information  from  Mr.  R.  Barrett  Browning. 

1835  (?)  The  engraving  which  appears  in  Home's  New  Spirit  of 
the  Age  (1844),  and  is  reproduced  with  the  date  1835  (the 
evidence  for  which  appears  to  be  uncertain)  in  vol.  iii.  of 
the  seventeen- voliune  edition  of  Poetical  Works  (1888),  in 
vol.  i.  of  the  two-volume  edition  (1896),  and  in  Rohert 
Browning  and  Alfred  Domett  (1906).  It  is  described  by 
Mrs.  Browning  in  terms  which  are  hardly  excessive.  "  There's 
a  detestable  engraving,  which,  if  you  have  the  Ul-luck  to  see 
(and  you  may,  because,  horrible  to  relate,  it  is  in  the  shop 
windows),  will  you  have  the  kindness,  for  my  sake,  not  to 
fancy  like  Hobert? — it  being,  as  he  says  himself,  the  very 
image  of  a  young  man  at  Waterloo  House,  in  a  moment  of 
inspiration"  {Letters  of  E.  B.  Browning,  i.  335).  And 
again :  "  Now  to  bear  with  the  horrible  portrait  in  the  matter 
of  the  eyes  is  a  hard  thing.  .  .  .  The  hair  is  like,  and 
nothing  else.  The  mouth,  the  form  of  the  cheek,  one  is  as 
unlike  as  the  other.  And  the  character  of  the  whole  is  most 
unlike  of  the  whole — it  is  a  vulgarized  caricature — and  I  only 
wonder  how  I  could  have  fastened  it  inside  of  my  *  Paracelsus,' 
frontispiece-fashion.  .  .  .  Mr.  Kenyon  told  me  it  was 
♦rather  hke'  {Letters  of  R.  B.  and  E.  B.  B.,  ii.  219,  cf.  i. 
316). 


414  APPENDIX  I 

About  1838,  A  small  head  in  pencil  by  M.  de  Monclar  (sea 
p.  96).  Unpublished.  In  the  possession  of  Mr.  R.  Barrett 
Browniog. 

1853.  Oil-painting  by  Reade,  done  at  Florence.  "His  portrait, 
by  Mr.  Eeade,  I  must  be  glad  about,  seeing  that  though  it  by 
no  means  gives  his  best  expression,  the  face  is  there,  and  it 
will  be  the  best  work  extant  on  the  same  subject "  {Letters  of 
E.  B.  B.,  ii.  143). 

1854.  Oil-painting  by  W.  Page.  "Page,  the  American  artist, 
painted  a  picture  of  Robert  hke  an  Italian,  and  then  pre- 
sented it  to  me  like  a  prince.  It  is  a  wonderful  picture,  the 
colouring  so  absolutely  Venetian  that  artists  can't  (for  the 
most  part)  keep  their  temper  when  they  look  at  it,  and  the 
breath  of  the  likeness  is  literal"  {lb.  ii.  170).  Brow-nuig 
himself  speaks  equally  warmly  of  it  in  a  letter  to  W.  W.  Story, 
Florence,  June  11,  1854  (H.  James,  W.  W.  Story  and  his 
Friends,  ii.  287-8)  :  "I  shall  6urj)rise  you  by  teUing  you 
— now  that  I  may  teU — that  he  [Page]  painted  a  magnificent 
portrait  of  me,  the  finest  even  of  his  works,  just  the  head, 
which  he  wished  to  concentrate  his  art  upon,  io  a  manner  which 
would  have  been  impossible  had  the  canvas  been  larger.  The 
result  is  marvellous.  I  hate  keeping  secrets,  but  this  was 
Page's,  not  mine ;  he  even  wished  my  wife  to  be  kept  in 
ignorance  of  it,  which,  of  course,  was  impossible.  And  the 
end  is  that  he  has  presented  the  picture  to  her.  Both  of  us 
would  fain  have  escaped  being  the  subjects  of  such  a  princely 
piece  of  generosity;  but  there  was  no  withstanding  his 
admirable  delicacy  and  noble-mindedness,  which  made  the 
sacrifice  of  such  time  and  labour  even  easy.  I  wished  him 
to  keep  the  picture  for  a  year  at  least ;  but  he  sent  it  to  me 
on  the  morning  of  our  departure.  So  it  is  here — the  wonder 
of  everybody.  No  such  work  has  been  achieved  in  our  time 
— ^to  my  knowledge  at  least.  I  am  not  qualified  to  speak  of 
the  hkeness,  understand,  only  of  the  life  and  effect,  which  I 
wish,  with  all  my  heart,  had  been  given  to  my  wife's  head  or 
any  I  hke  better  to  look  at  than  my  own."  Unfortunately, 
Page  had  special  methods,  intended  to  reproduce  the  colouring 


APPENDIX  I  415 

of  the  great  Venetians,  wliicli  have  had  disastrous  effects  upon 
his  pictures.  Mr.  E.  B.  Browning  (in  whose  possession  the 
picture  now  is)  states  that  the  surface  has  become  thick  and 
waxy,  and  the  portrait  has  ahnost  disappeared. 

1854.  Oil-painting  by  "W.  Fisher,  done  at  Eome.     "Robert  has 
been  sitting  for  his  picture  to  Fisher,  the  EogHsh  artist.  .  .  . 
r,y  It  is  an  admirable  Hkeness.     The  expression  is  an  exceptional 

expression,  but  highly  characteristic.  It  is  one  of  Fisher's 
best  works"  {Ih.  ii.  160,  cf.  163).  Reproduced  as  frontis- 
piece to  vol.  ii  of  the  Letters  of  E.  B.  Browning.  In  the 
possession  of  Mr.  E.  B.  Browning. 

1854.  Hedallion  by  H.  Wood.    Eossetti,  op.  cit. 

1855-8.  "Water-colour  by  D.  G.  Eossetti.  Eossetti,  tb.  For  the 
date,  see  p.  184,  above.     Present  ownership  unknown. 

1856.  Bronze  medallion  by  T.  Woolner.  Eossetti,  ih.,  with 
reproduction. 

1859.  Pencil-drawing  by  F.  Leighton  (afterwards  Lord  Leighton), 
done  at  Eome.  "  Mr.  Leighton  has  made  a  beautifid  pencil- 
drawing,  highty  finished  to  the  last  degree,  of  him;  very 
like,  though  not  on  the  poetical  side"  {Letters  of  E.  B.  B., 
ii.  310).  Lord  Leighton  (in  a  letter  quoted  by  Eossetti,  op. 
cit.,  p.  186)  assigns  it  to  the  year  1854 ;  but  the  contemporary 
evidence  of  Mrs.  Browning  is  conclusively  confirmed  by  the 
inscription  on  the  drawing  itself,  in  the  handwriting  of  Eobert 
Browning  :  "  Eome,  March  28, 1859."  Reproduced  for  the  first 
time  in  the  present  volume.  In  the  possession  of  Mr.  E.  B. 
Browning. 

1859.  Pencil-drawing  by  Eudolf  Lehmann,  dated  Eome,  May  22, 
'59.     Eossetti,  op.  cit.,  with  reproduction. 

1859.  Crayon  portrait  by  Field  Talfourd.  Eossetti,  ih.,  with  re- 
production, and  a  letter  relating  to  it  from  Eobert  Browning. 
"My  sister — a  better  authority  than  myself — has  always 
liked  it,  as  resembling  its  subject  when  his  features  had  more 
resemblance  to  those  of  his  mother  than  in  after-time,  when 
those  of  his  father  got  the  better — or  perhaps  the  worse — of 


416  APPENDIX  I 

them."    Formerly  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  E.  Gosse,  now  in 
the  National  Portrait  Gallery. 

1860.  Oil-painting  by  Gordigiani.  Reproduced  as  frontispiece  to 
Letters  of  Bohert  Browning  and  E.  B.  Barrett,  vol.  i. 

1861.  Bust  by  W.  W.  Story,  done  in  Rome.  "  Mr.  Story  is 
doing  Robert's  bust,  which  is  likely  to  be  a  success  "  {Letters 
of  E.  B.  Browning,  ii.  448).  Story  himself  writes :  "  The 
last  thing  I  did  before  leaving  Rome  was  to  make  a  hnst  of 
him,  which  his  wife  was  good  enough  to  call  'perfect.'  It 
was  made  for  her  as  a  present ;  but,  alas !  you  see  the  end  of 
that "  (James,  W.  W.  Story  and  his  Friends,  ii.  69).  This, 
together  with  a  companion  bust  of  Mrs.  Browning,  made 
after  her  death,  was  subsciuently  executed  in  marble  for  Mr. 
George  Moulton-Barrett,  who  presented  both  of  them  to  hia 
nephew,  Mr.  R.  Bairett  Browning,  in  whose  possession  they 
now  are. 

1869.  Pencil-drawings  by  Lord  Carlisle  of  Browning  reading 
The  Bing  and  the  Booh.  Reproduced  in  vols.  i.  and  vi.  of 
the  eight-volume  echtion  of  the  Boelical  Works  (10O2).  In 
the  possession  of  Marchesa  E.  Peruzzi  de'  Medici  (iiee  Story). 

1874.  Oil-painting  by  R.  Barrett  Browning,  done  at  Dinant  in 
Belgium.     In  the  possession  of  Mr.  R.  Bairett  Browning. 

1875.  Oil-painting  by  G.  F.  Watts.  Rossetti,  o-p.  rit.,  with  repro- 
duction.    Now  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallerj'. 

1879.  Oil-painting  by  Rudolf  Lehmann,  Rossetti,  ih.,  vdth. 
reproduction. 

1880.  Four  small  portrait  heads  in  oils  by  Julian  Story,  Ralph  Curtis, 
Harper  Pennington,  and  Charles  Forbes,  to  whom  Browning 
eat  at  the  same  time  in  Venice.  Curtis'  portrait  is  repro- 
duced as  frontispiece  to  E.  Dowden's  Bohert  Browning  (1904). 

1881.  Oil-painting  by  F.Sandys.  Rossetti,  op.  cit.,  with  reproduc- 
tion.    Formerly  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  G.  L.  Craik. 

1882.  Oil-painting  by  R.  Barrett  Browning.  Reproduced  in  voL 
xvi.  of  the  seventeen-volume  edition  of  the  Boetical  TT'^or^-j 
(1888-94),  and  in  vol.  viii.  of  the  eight-volume  edition  (1902). 


APPENDIX  I  417 

1882.  Oil-painting  by  the  same,  representing  the  poet  in  his  Oxford 
D.C.L.  robes,  holding  the  "  square  yellow  book."  Rossetti, 
op.  cit,  with  reproduction.     In  Balliol  College  hall. 

1884,  Oil-painting  by  Rudolf  Lehmann  (begun  in  1879,  finished  in 
1884  or  1885).     In  the  National  Portrait  GaUery. 

1884.  Oil-painting  by  F.  Moscheles.  Rossetti,  op.  cit.,  with  repro- 
duction. 

1886  (?).  Bust  in  marble  by  R.  Barrett  Bro\\Tiing.  Original  in 
Browning  Hall,  Walworth  (see  above,  p.  17,  note);  a  repHca 
(as  well  as  one  in  bronze)  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  R.  Barrett 
Browning. 

1888.  Bronze  medallion  by  G.  Natorp.  Rossetti,  op.  cit.,  with 
reproduction. 

1888.  Oil-painting  by  Legros.  Rossetti,  ib.,  Avith  reproduction. 
In  the  Victoria  and  Albert  Museum,  South  Kensington. 

1889.  Bust  by  Miss  H.  Montalba.     Rossetti,  ib. 

1889.  Oil-painting  by  R.  Barrett  Browning,  done  in  the  Palazzo 
Rezzonico  at  Venice.  Reproduced  in  the  present  volume,  in 
the  possession  of  Mr.  R.  Barrett  Browning. 

1889  (November  24).  Pencil  sketch  by  Major  Giles.  Rossetti, 
Ojp.  cit.,  with  reproduction. 


APPENDIX   n. 


Ik 

./Be 


THE   ORIGINAL  MSS.    OF  BEOWlflSG  S   POEMS. 

Of  the  earlier  volumes — those  prior  to  The  Eing  and  the  Book 
— five  seem  to  be  known  to  exist  in  manuscript  at  present. 
Paracelsus  is  in  the  Forster  collection  at  the  Victoria  and  Albert 
Museum,  having  been  presented  by  the  poet  to  the  friend  who  had 
80  enthusiastically  reviewed  it.  Fippa  Passes  is  in  the  possession 
of  Mr.  Sebastian  Schlesinger,  in  Paris,  to  whom  it  was  given  by 
the  poet.  It  may  be  the  MS.  from  which  part  of  the  Prologue  is 
reproduced  in  the  Publishers'  Circular  for  May  20,  1894.  Colomhe\ 
Birthday  belongs  to  Mr.  H.  Buxton  Forman,  who  purchased  it  in 
1877  at  a  sale.  A  letter  to  him  from  Browning  (written  on  July  2, 
1877,  and  printed  by  Mr.  T.  J.  Wise,  Letters  of  Robert  Browning,  i. 
5.3)  gives  its  previous  history,  so  far  as  it  is  known.  It  was  made  for 
Charles  Kean,  to  whom  Browning  read  the  play  in  1844  (see  letter 
from  R.  B.  to  Christopher  Dowson,  printed  ib.  p.  7),  and  who  was 
anxious  to  act  it,  but  wished  to  hold  it  over  to  the  following  year, 
keeping  it  unpublished  the  whOe.  Browning  refused  this,  and  had 
the  play  printed  at  once.  The  MS.,  having  been  returned  by 
Kean,  was  bound  for  the  poet's  father.  How  it  left  his  keeping  is 
unknown,  but  in  1848  it  appeared  (under  a  wrong  name)  at  a  sale 
at  Hodgson's,  and  on  its  reappearance  in  1877  it  was  bought  by 
Mr.  Forman.  Browning  told  Mr.  Forman  that  it  was  "  the  single 
poem  of  the  series  [of  Bells  and  Pomegranates']  that  I  copied  with 
my  o\vn  hand,  my  sister  having  been  my  amanuensis  in  those 
days." 

The  MS.  of  Christmas  Eve  and  Easter  Day  is  in  the  Forster 
collection  at  South  Kensington.  Several  pages  of  it  are  in  the 
hand  of  Mrs.  Browning.  The  statement  in  NicoU  and  Wise's 
Literary  Anecdotes  of  the  XlXth  Century  (i.  364)  that  the  MS. 
of  Strafford  is  also  at  South  Kensington  is  erroneous. 

The  MS.  of  Dramatis  Fersonce  was  presented  by  the  author  to 


APPENDIX  II  419 

Mr.  Frederick  Chapman,  a  partner  in  the  firm  of  Messrs.  Chapman 
and  Hall,  who  published  the  poem.  It  was  taken  to  America  a  few 
years  ago,  and  is  now  the  property  of  the  headmaster  of  The  Hill 
School  (Pennsylvania).  See  an  article  by  Prof.  W.  L.  Phelps  in  the 
Tale  Courant  for  December,  1906,  where  facsimiles  are  given  of 
Frospice  and  parts  of  Mr.  Sludge  the  Medium  and  Rahhi  Ben  Ezra, 

The  original  IMS.  of  The  Eing  and  the  Book  is  the  property  of 
Mrs.  G.  M.  Smith,  to  whom  Browning  presented  it.  Mrs.  Smith 
also  owns  (by  the  gift  of  Mr.  R.  Barrett  Browning)  the  MS.  of 
the  Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese. 

The  MSS.  of  all  the  volumes  (except  the  last,  Asolando)  pub- 
lished since  The  Ring  and  the  Booh  were  presented  by  Mr.  R. 
Barrett  Browning,  in  accordance  with  his  father's  known  wishes, 
to  Balliol  College,  Oxford,  in  grateful  recognition  of  the  Honorary 
Fellowship  confen-ed  upon  the  poet  by  the  College,  and  of  the 
friendship  of  the  Master,  Dr.  Jowett.  They  are  now  in  the  College 
Library,  bound  up  as  follows  : — 

Y  T   T-        (  Bed  Cotton  Night  Cap  Country^ 

\  The  Inn  AJhum. 

Y  1  -T-r     j  Pacchiarotto. 

\  La  Saisiaz. 

IBalaustion' s  Adventure. 
Prince  Hohenstiel-Schwangail)^ 
Fifine  at  the  Fair. 
I   Dramatic  Idyls.    First  Series. 
,,  „        Second  Series. 

Jocoseria. 


Y  I  Y      /  Aristophanes^  Apology. 

\  Agamemnon  of  ^schylus. 


Vol.  VI. 


FerishtaKs  Fancies. 

Parley ings  with  certain  People  of  Importance. 

The  College  also  possesses  (by  the  same  donation)  the  "  square 
old  yellow  book,"  which  was  the  seed  whence  sprang  The  Bing 
and  the  Book,  and  the  old  print  of  Giiido  Franceschini  which  is 
reproduced  in  vol.  viii.  of  the  seventeen-volume  edition  of  the 
Poetical  Works. 

Only  the  MS.  of  Asolando  was  retained  by  Mr.  R.  Barrett 
Browning  for  his  hfetime,  with  the  full  approval  of  Dr.  Jowett. 


INDEX 


Abel,  Mr.  (maeician),  41 

Adams,  Mrs.  Sarah  Flower,  32,  34 

Albemarle,  Lord,  385 

Alford,  Lady  Marian,  289 

AUingham,  Mr.  William,  184 

American  appreciation  of  Brown- 
ing, 283,  234,  333 

Ampere,  M.,  192 

Ancona,  151 

Anderson,  Mr.  (actor),  115 

Arnold,  Matthew,  296 

Arnould,  Mr.  (afterwards  Sir 
Joseph),  45,  46 

Arran,  Isle  of,  293 

Ashburton,  Lady.  275 

Asolo,  95,  309,  SS's  sqq.,  395. 

Audieme  (Finisterre,  Brittany), 
267 

Azeglio,  Massimo  d',  229 


Bainton,  G.,  letter  to,  378 
Balzac's    works,    the     Brownings' 

admiration  of,  144,  145,  363 
Barrett,   Miss    Arabel,    196,    248; 

her  death,  266,  267 
Barrett,   Edward   Moulton,   father 

of  Mrs.  Browning,  135  $qq. ;  his 

death,  202 
Barrett,     George    Moulton,    140  ; 

Letter  to,  394 
Barrett,  Mi.ss  Henrietta  (afterwards 

Mrs.   Surtees    Cook),    135 ;    her 

death,  229-231 
I     Barrett,  Mr.  Laurence  (actor),  110 
Bartoli's    De'   Simboli    tratportati 

al  Morale,  94 
Benckhausen,  Mr.  (Russian  consul- 
general),  60 
Beuzon,  Mr.  Ernest,  281 


Be'ranger,  M.,  167,  356 

Berdoe,  Dr.  Edward:  his  paper  on 
"  Paracelsus,  the  Reformer  of 
Medicine,"  68 

Biarritz,  250 

Blagden,  Miss  Isa,  208,  237,  $qq. ; 
Letters  to,  243-281  paKtim  ; 
death,  281 

Blundell,  Dr.  (physician),  77 

Boyle,  Dean  (of  Salisbury),  330 

Boyle,  Miss  (niece  of  the  Earl  of 
Cork),  147,  148 

Bridell-Fox,  Mrs.,  32,  54,  86 

Bronson,  Mrs.  Arthur,  313  tqq. 

Browning,  Robert  (grandfather  of 
the  poet) :  account  of  his  life, 
two  marriages,  and  two  families, 
3-5 

Browning,  Mrs.  (step-grandmother 
of  the  poet),  4,  74 

Browning,  Robert  (father  of  the 
poet):  youth,  4,  5;  marriase,  6  ; 
clerk  in  the  Bank  of  England, 
10;  comparison  between  him 
and  his  sun,  1 1 ;  scholarly  and 
artistic  tastes,  12  sqq. ;  simplicity 
and  genuineness  ot  his  cliaructer, 
13;  liis  strong  health.  14:  Mr. 
Locker-Lampson's  account  of 
him,  15 ;  his  reliijious  opinions, 
17  ;  renewed  relations  with  his 
father's  widow  and  second  family, 
76;  letter  on  his  son's  early 
verses,  32 ;  death,  263 

Browning,  Sarah  Anna  (the  poet*» 
mother):  her  family,  18;  her 
nervous  temperament  transmit- 
ted to  her  son,  19 ;  her  death, 
154  sqq. 

Browning,     Reuben     (the    poet's 


42$ 


INDEX 


uncle),  74;  Lord  Beacnnsfield's 
appreciation  of  his  Latinity,  75 

Browning,  William  Shergold  (the 
poet's  uncle),  his  literary  work, 
76 

Browning,  Miss  Jemima  (the  poet's 
aunt),  74 

Browning,  Miss  Sarianna  (the  poet's 
sister),  17,  26,  29,  33,  93,  94,  155, 
193,  195,  208,  216,  222,  231,  235, 
244,  (comes  to  live  with  her 
brother)  264,  268,  276,  292,  308, 
321,  343,  344,  377,  386,  396 

Browning,  Robert:  1812-33— the 
notion  of  his  Jewish  extraction 
disproved,  1 ;  his  family  anci- 
ently established  in  Dorsetshire, 
2 ;  his  carelessness  as  to  genea- 
logical record,  3  ;  account  of  his 
grandfather's  life  and  second 
marriage,  3,  4 ;  his  father's  un- 
happy youth,  5 :  his  paternal 
grandmother,  6 ;  suggestion  of 
negro  blood  disproved,  6  sqq. ;  his 
father's  position,  10;  comparison 
of  father  and  son,  11;  the  father's 
use  of  grotesque  rhymes  in  teach- 
ing him,  12 ;  qualities  he  in- 
herited from  his  mother,  18; 
weak  points  in  regard  to  health 
throughout  his  life,  19 ;  charac- 
teristics in  early  childhood,  22 ; 
great  quickness  in  learning,  23 ; 
an  amusing  prank,  25  n. ;  passion 
for  his  mother,  25  ;  fondness  for 
animals,  26 ;  his  collections,  27 ; 
experiences  of  school  life,  27 ; 
extensive  reading  in  his  father's 
library,  29 ;  early  acquaintance 
with  old  books,  30;  his  early 
attempts  in  verse,  31 ;  spurious 
poems  in  circulation,  33  ;  Incoii- 
dita^ihe  production  of  the  twelve- 
year-old  poet,  31,  33 ;  introduc- 
tion to  Mr.  Fox,  34;  his  boyish 
love  and  lasting  affection  for 
Miss  Flower,  35 ;  first  ac- 
quaintance with  Shelley's  and 
Keats'  works.  37  sq. ;  his  admira- 
tion for  Shelley, '39  ;  home  educa- 


tion under  masters,  his  manly 
accomplishments,  41 ;  his  studies 
chiefly  literary,  41,  42;  love  of 
home,  44;  associates  of  his 
youth :  Arnould  and  Domett, 
45 ;  the  Silverthornes,  46 ;  his 
choice  of  poetry  as  a  profession, 
ib. ;  other  possible  prt)fe8siona 
considered,  47 ;  admiration  for 
good  acting,  49;  his  father's 
support  in  his  literary  career,  ib. ; 
reads  and  digests  Johnson's 
Dictionary  by  way  of  prepara- 
tion, 56 

Browiiing,  Robert :  1833-35~pub. 
liciition  of  Pauline,  51 ;  corre- 
spondence with  Mr.  Fox,  52-54  ; 
the  poet's  later  opinion  of  it, 
55 ;  characteristics  of  the  poem, 
ib. ;  Mr.  Fox's  review  of  it,  56  ; 
other  notices,  59;  Browning's 
visit  to  Russia,  60  ;  contributions 
to  the  Monthly  Repository :  his 
first  sonnet,  61 ;  the  Trifler 
(amateur  periodical),  62 ;  a  comic 
defence  of  debt,  63 ;  preparing 
to  publish  Paracelsus,  64  ;  friend- 
ship with  Count  de  Ripert-Mon- 
clar,  67 ;  Browning's  treatment 
of  Paracelsus,  68;  the  original 
Preface,  71 ;  John  Forster's 
article  on  it  in  the  Examiner,  72 

Browning,  Robert:  1835-38— re- 
moval of  the  family  to  Hatcham, 
73  ;  renewed  intimacy  with  his 
grandfather's  second  family,  74  ; 
friendly  relations  with  Carlyle, 
77 ;  recognition  by  men  of  the 
day,  78 ;  introduction  to  Ma- 
cready,  79 ;  first  meeting  with 
Forster,  80;  Miss  Euphrasia 
Fanny  Haworth,  ib. ;  at  the  Ion 
supper,  81  ;  prospects  of  Straf- 
ford, 82;  its  production  and 
reception,  84 ;  a  personal  des- 
crij)tion  of  him  at  this  period, 
86 ;  Mr.  John  Robertson  and  the 
Westminster  Review,  88 

Browning,  Robert:  .1838-46— first 
Italian  journey,  90;  a  striking 


INDEX 


423 


experience  of  the  voyage,  91 ; 
preparations  for  writing  otiier 
tragedies,  97  ;  meeting  with  Mr. 
John  Kenyon,  ib. ;  appearance 
of  Sordello,  98  ;  Pippa  Fasses, 
102;  Alfred  Domett  on  the 
critics,  103  ;  Bellt  and  Pomegra- 
nates, 104 ;  explanation  of  its 
title,  106.  List  of  the  poems, 
107 ;  A  Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon, 
written  for  Macready,  109  ; 
Browning's  later  account  and 
discussion  of  the  breach  between 
him  and  Macready,  110;  Co- 
lomhe'g  Birthday,  118;  other 
dramas,  119;  Dramatic  Lyrics, 
120;  Tlie  Lo^t  Leader,  122; 
Browning's  life  before  his  second 
Italian  journey,  124;  in  Naples, 
126;  visit  to  Mr.  Trelawny  at 
Leghorn,  127 
Browning,  Robert :  1844-55 — in- 
troduction to  Miss  Barrett,  129  ; 
his  admiration  for  her  poetry, 
tb. ;  his  proposal  to  her,  IHO ; 
correspondence,  132  ;  reasons  for 
concealing  the  engagement,  135 ; 
their  marriage,  139  ;  journey  to 
Italy,  142;  life  at  Pisa.  143; 
Florence,  145;  Browning's  re- 
quest for  appointment  on  a 
British  mission  to  the  Vatican, 
147 ;  settling  in  Casa  Guidi, 
149;  Fano  and  Ancnna,  151  ;  ^ 
BJot  in  the  'Scutcheon  at  Sadler's 
Wells,  152  ;  birth  of  Browning's 
eon,  and  death  of  his  mother, 
154 ;  wanderings  in  Italy :  the 
Biths  of  Lucca,  156  :  friendship 
with  Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli, 
161 ;  Venice,  163 ;  winter  iu 
Paris,  164 ;  Cariyle,  165 ;  George 
Band,  168.  Close  friendship 
with  M.  Joseph  Milsand,  173; 
Milsand's  appreciation  of  Brown- 
ing, 174 ;  nt^w  edition  of  Brown- 
ing's poems  177 ;  Christmas  Ere 
and  Easter  Day,  ib. ;  the  Essay 
on  Shelley,  178 ;  summer  iu 
London,    182;     introduction    to 


Dante  G.  Rns^etti,  183;  again 
in  Florence,  184;  production  of 
Colombe's  Birthday  (1853),  185; 
again  at  Lucca,  5lr.  and  Mrs. 
W.  Storv,  187;  first  winter  in 
Rome,  188;  the  Kembles,  190; 
agaiu  in  London  (1855)  :  Tenny- 
son, 195 
Browning,  Robert:  1855-61 — pub- 
lication of  Men  and  Women,  197  ; 
Knrshook,  198;   Tioo  in  the  Cam- 

?agna,  199;  another  winter  in 
'aris  :  Lady  Elgin,  200;  legacies 
to  the  Brownings  from  Mr. 
Kenyon,  203 ;  Mr.  Browning's 
little  son,  ib.;  a  carnival  mas- 
querade, 206  ;  Spiritualism.  209 ; 
Sludge  the  Medium,  210 ;  Count 
Ginuasi's  clairvoyance,  213;  at 
Siena,  218  :  Walter  Savage  Lan- 
der, 219  ;  illness  of  Mrs.  Brown- 
ing, 220 :  his  social  life  in  Rome, 
225  ;  last  winter  in  Rome,  230 ; 
American  appreciation  of  Brown- 
ing's works,  233;  Madame  du 
Quaire,  234 ;  Mrs.  Browning's 
illness  and  death,  235  ;  the  comet 
of  1861,  236 
Browning,  Robert:  1861-69  — 
Miss  Blagden's  helpful  sym 
pathy,  237 ;  feeling  in  regard  to 
funeral  ceremonies,  243  ;  estab- 
lished in  London  with  his  son, 
244 ;  Miss  Arabel  Barrett,  248 ; 
offer  of  editorship  of  Comhill 
Magazine,  249  r» ;  visit  to  Biar- 
ritz, 250 ;  origin  of  The  Ring 
an<t  the  B'ok,  251 ;  his  views  as 
to  the  publication  of  letters,  2.i2  ; 
new  edition  of  his  works,  selec- 
tion of  poems,  254.  Residence 
at  Poruic,  2.'i5  ;  a  meeting  at  Mr. 
F.  Falgrave's  257 ;  his  literary 
po.xition  in  1865,  259;  his  own 
e.stimate  of  it,  260  ;  death  of  his 
father,  263;  with  his  sister  at 
Le  Croisic,  264;  Academic  hon- 
ours :  letter  to  the  Master  of 
Balliol  (Dr.  Scottl.  265  ;  curious 
circumstance  connected  with  th« 


424) 


INDEX 


death  of  Miss  A.  Barrett,  267 ; 
at  Audieme,  ib. ;  the  uniform 
edition  of  his  works,  268 ;  publi- 
cation of  The  Uing  and  the  Book, 
ih. ;  inspiration  of  Pompilia, 
270 

Browning,  Robert  :  1869-73  — 
Helen' »  Tower,  274 ;  at  St.-Aubin, 
275  ;  escape  from  France  during 
the  war  (1870),  277  ;  publication 
of  Balaustiori' 8  Adventure  and 
Prince  Eohenstiet  -  Schwangau, 
278;  Herc^  Riel  sold  for  the 
benefit  of  French  sulferers  by 
the  war,  279 ;  Fifine  at  the  Fair, 
282;  mistaken  theories  of  tliat 
work,  283  ;  Red  Cotton  Nightcap 
Country,  286 

Browning,  Robert:  1873-78— his 
manner  of  life  in  London,  288 ; 
his  love  of  music,  290 ;  friendship 
with  Miss  Egerton-Smith,  ih. ; 
summers  spent  at  Mere,  Villers, 
Isle  of  Arran,  and  La  Saisiaz, 
292,  293;  Aristophanes'  Apology, 
ib. ;  Pacchiarotto,  The  Inn  Album, 
the  translation  of  the  Agamemnon, 
294, 295 ;  description  of  a  visit  to 
Oxford,  295  ;  visit  to  Cambridge, 
297;  olfered  the  Rectorships  of 
the  Universities  of  Glasgow  and 
St.  Andrews,  298 ;  description 
of  La  Saisiaz,  300 ;  sudden  death 
of  Miss  Egerton-Smith,  302  ;  the 
poem  La  Saisiaz :  Browning's 
position  towards  Christianity, 
303;  The  Tioo  Poets  of  Croisic, 
and  Selections  from  his  Works, 
305 

Browning,  Robert:  1878-81 — he 
revisits  Italy,  307 ;  Spliigen, 
308;  Asolo,  309;  Venice,  311; 
favourite  Alpine  retreats,  312 ; 
friendly  relations  with  Mrs. 
Arthur  Bronson,  313;  life  in 
Venice,  314  ;  a  tragedy  at  Saint- 
Pierre,  318 ;  the  first  series  of 
Dramatic  Idyh,  322  ;  the  second 
series,  Jocoseria,  and  Feiishtah's 
Faucitt,  324 


Browning,  Robert:  1881-87— the 
Browning  Society,  326;  Brown- 
ing's attitude  in  regard  to  it, 
328 ;  similar  societies  in  England 
and  America,  332 ;  wide  dift'usion 
of  Browning's  works  in  America, 
333;  lines  for  the  gravestone  of 
Mr.  Levi  Thaxter,  335;  President 
of  the  New  Shakspere  Society, 
and  member  of  the  Wordsworth 
Soriety,  336 ;  Honorary  President 
of  the  Associated  Societies  of 
Edinburgh,  338 ;  appreciation  of 
his  works  in  Italy,  ib. ;  sonnet  to 
Goldoni,  339 ;  attempt  to  pur- 
chase the  Palazzo  Manzoni, 
Venice,  341 ;  Saint-Moritz ;  Mrs. 
Bloomfield  Moore,  343 ;  at  Llan- 
gollen, 344;  loss  of  old  friends, 
345  ;  Foreign  Correspondent  to 
the  Royal  Academy,  347;  publi- 
cation of  Parleyings,  ib. 

Browning,  Robert :  his  character — 
constancy  in  friendship,  349 ; 
optimism  and  belief  in  a  direct 
Providence,  350;  political  prin- 
ciples, 354;  character  of  his 
friendships,  355 ;  attitude  towardii 
his  reviewers  and  his  readers, 
357;  attitude  towards  his  works, 
358 ;  his  method  of  work,  361  ; 
study  of  Spanish,  Hebrew,  and 
German,  362 ;  conversational 
powers  and  the  stores  of  his 
memory,  364 ;  nervous  peculi- 
arities, 367;  his  innate  kindliness, 
370 ;  attitude  towards  women, 
371 ;  final  views  on  the  Women's 
Suffrage  question,  373. 

Browning,  Robert :  his  last  years  — 
marriage  of  his  son,  375 ;  hia 
change  of  abode,  ib  ;  symptoms 
of  declinina;  strength,  377 ;  new 
poems,  and  revision  of  the  old, 
379 ;  journey  to  Italy :  Primiero 
and  Venice,  381 ;  last  winter  in 
England:  visit  to  BalUol  College, 
385 ;  last  visit  to  Italy :  Asolo 
once  more,  386;  proposed  pur- 
chase uf  land  there,  393;  the  Lines 


INDEX 


425 


to  Edward  Fitzgerald,  396 ;  with 
his  son  at  Palazzo  Kezzonico, 
398;  last  illness,  399;  death, 
400 ;  funeral  honours  in  Italy, 
402  sqq. ;  Asolando  published  on 
the  day  of  his  death,  405 ;  his 
burial  in  Westminster  Abbey, 
406 ;  the  purport  and  tendency 
of  his  work,  407  sqq. 
Browning,    Robert:     letters    to — 

Bainton,Mr.George  (Coventry), 
378 

Blagden,  Miss  Isa,  243,  248, 
250,  252,  256,  259,  261-263, 
265,  267,  269,  275,  276,  278, 
280,  281 

Fitz-Gerald,  Mrs.,  295,  298, 
300,  309,  316,  318,  319,  320, 
329,  389 

Flower,  Miss,  102,  125,  126 

Fox,  Jlr.,  52-54,  64,  65,  84,  214 

Haweis,  Rev.  H.  R.,  325  n. 

Haworth,  Miss  E.  F.,  90,  95, 
124,  239 

Hickey,  Miss  E.  H.,  335 

Hill,  Mr.  Frank  (editor  of  the 
Daily  News),  110,  115 

Hill,  Mrs.  Frank,  357 

Keep,  Miss,  383,  384,  398 

Knight,  Professor  (St.  An- 
drews), 98,  336,  337,  368, 
385 

Lee,  Miss  (Maidstone),  123 

Leighton,  Mr.  Frederic  (after- 
wards Lord),  220,  238,  255, 
273 

Martin,  Mrs.  Theodore  (after- 
wards Lady),  185,  381 

Moulton-Barrett,  Mr.  G.,  244, 
394 

Quaire,  Madame  du,  247 

Robertson,  Mr.  John  (editor  of 
Westminster  Review,  1838), 
88 

Bcott,  Rev.  Dr.,  266 

Skirrow,  Mrs.  Charles,  321, 
341  344  389 

Smith,  Mr.  G.  M.,  278,  380, 
390 

Story,  W.  W.,  244n. 


Browning,  Robert :  Works  of— 
A  Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon,  109- 

118,  152 
A  Death  in  the  De/ert,  303,  323 
A  Forgiveness,  295  n. 
Agamemnon,  294 
An'lrea  del  Sarto,  323 
Aristophanes'  Apology,  293 
Artemis  ProJoguizes,  121 
Asolando,  122,  314.  379,  405 
At  the  Mermaid,  351,  359 
A  Woman's  Last  Word,  373 
Bad  Dreams,  379 
Balaustion's    Adventure,    278, 

280,  282 
Bean  Stripes,  351 
Beatrice  Signorini,  379 
Bells    and    Pomegranates,   49, 

62.  78,  105,  (meaning  of  the 

title,  and  list  of  the  dramaa 

and  poems),  1U6,  177 
Ben   Karshook's   Wisdom,  197, 

198 
Bishop  Blougram,  323 
By  the  Fireside,  188 
Childe  Roland,  362 
Christmas  Ere  and  Easter  Day, 

163,  177,  303 
Cleon,  323 
Colombe's    Birthday,  78,    118, 

185,  254 
Cristina,  122 
Dramatic  Idyls,  308,  312,  322 

sqq. 
Dramatic  Lyrics,  107, 120 
Dramatic  Romances  and  Lyrics, 

107,  120,  121 
Dramatis    Persons,   251,   269, 

282,  303- 
Epitaph  on  Levi  Thaxter,  335 
Egsay  on  Shelley,  177  sqq. 
Ferishtah's  Fancies,  324,  3G2 
Fijine  at  the  Fair,  282  sqq.,  323 
Flute-Music,  379 
Gold  Hair,  262 
Goldoni.  sonnet  to,  340 
Helen's  Tower  (sonnet),  274 
Eerv^  Riel  (ballad),  121,  278, 

279 
Home  Thoughts  from  the  Sea,  94 


426 


INDEX 


Browning,  Eobert :  "Works  of — 

How  they  brought  the  Good 
News  from  Ghent  to  Aiz,  94 

In  a  Balr^y,  188.  251 

In  a  Gon^la,  95,  124 

In  far  Edhonian  solitudes,  61n. 

Ivan  Ivanovitch,  271,  312,  324 

James  Lee's  Wife,  62,  256,  323 

Joroseria,  324 

Johannes  Agricola  in  Medita- 
tion. 62 

Kinq  Victor  and  King  Charles, 
97,  119,  120 

La  Saisiuz,  290,  302  ggg,,  805, 
322 

Lines  to  Edward  Fitzgerald, 
396 

Madhouse  Cells,  62 

Mnrtin  Rflph,  324 

May  and  Death.  46 

Men  and  Women,  188,  195,  197 
sqq.,  362 

Ned  Bratts,  324 

Nump^iolejAns,  323 

One  Word  Mo>e,  197, 199 

Only  a  Player-girl  (unpub- 
lished play),  61  n 

Pacehiarotto,  285,  295 

Paracelsus,  49,  64,  67  sqq.,  79, 
177 

Parlfytngs,  175,  347 

Pauline,  51  /.,  70,  98,  181,  380 

Pippa  Passei,  39,  95,  102  sqq. 

Ponte  dell'  Angelo,  379 

Porphyria's  Lover,  62 

Prince  Hohenstiel-Schvoangau, 
278,  280,  281,  323 

P.ed  Cotton  Nightcap  Country, 
286,  323, 353 

Eosny,  379 

Saint  Martin's  Summer,  323 

Saul  323 

SlucJge  the  Medium,  210,  323 

Bordello,  49,  88, 91,  98  sqq.,  178, 
201,  254 

Strafford,  82  ggg.,  96,  120 

The  Cardinal  and  the  Dog,  122, 
405  n. 

The  Englishman  in  Italy,  128 

Tie  £pi««e  o/  Karshish,  323 


Browning,  Robert :  Works  of— 
The  Flight  of  the  Duchess,  77, 

121 
The  Inn  Album,  294,  323,  379 
The  Lost  Leader,  122 
The   Pied  Piper  of  Hamelint 

122 
The  Return  of  the  Druses,  97, 

119 
The  Ring  and  the  BooTt,  250, 

251.  208-273 
The  Twins.  194 
The  Two  Poets  of  Croisic,  305, 

351 
The  Worst  of  It,  323 
Two  in  the  Campagna,  199 
White  Witchcraft.  379 
Why  I  am  a  Liberal  (sonnet), 

340,  354 
Women  and  Roses,  362 
Selections  from  hie  Poems,  254, 
305 
Browning,  Mrs.  (the  poet's  wife: 
Elizabeth  Barrett  Moulton- 
Barrett) :  Browning's  introduc- 
tion to  her,  129 ;  her  early  life 
and  ill  health,  131 ;  the  reasons 
for  their  secret  marriage,  135  sqq. ; 
estrangement  from  her  father, 
139;  her  visit  to  Mrs.  Theodore 
Martin,  186;  Aurora  Leigh:  her 
methods  of  work,  202 ;  a  legacy 
from  Mr.  Kenyon,  203 ;  her  feel- 
ing about  Spiritualism,  209 ;  her 
sister's  illness  and  death,  231 ; 
her  own  death,  235 ;  proposed 
re-interment  in  Westminster 
Abbey,  404 
Browning,  Mrs. :  extracts  from  her 
letters — on  her  husband's  devo- 
tion, 143;  life  in  Pisa,  and  on 
French  literature,  144:  Vallom- 
brosa,  145 ;  their  acquaintances 
in  Florence,  146;  their  dwelling 
in  Piazza  Pitti,  148 ;  apartments 
in  the  Caaa  Guidi,  149;  visits  to 
Fano  and  Ancona,  151 ;  'Father 
Prout's'  cure  for  a  sore  throat, 
152  ;  Phelps's  production  of  the 
Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon,  ib. ;  birtk 


INDEX 


427 


*f  her  son,  154 ;  the  effect  of  his 
mother's  death  on  her  husband, 
155;  -wanderings  in  northern 
Italy,  156 ;  the  neighbourhood  of 
Lucca,  158,  187  sq.;  Venice,  163; 
life  in  Paris  (1851),  165;  esteem 
for  her  husband's  family.  166 ; 
description  of  George  Sand,  1G9 ; 
the  personal  appearance  of  that 
lady,  170 ;  her  impression  of  M. 
Joseph  Milsand,  175;  the  first 
performance  of  Colombe^s  Birth- 
day (185o),  1S5;  Rome:  death  in 
the  Story  family,  189;  Mrs. 
Sartoris  and  Fanny  Kemble,  191 ; 
society  in  Rome,  192 ;  a  visit 
from  Tennyson,  195;  about 
'Penini,'  2Uti;  description  of  a 
carnival  masquerade  (Florence, 
1857),  207 ;  impressions  of 
Landor,  223 ;  Massimo  d'  Azeglio, 
229 ;  on  her  sister  Henrietta 
(Mrs.  Surtees  Cook),  ib. ;  on  her 
husband's  work,  232 ;  on  the 
contrast  of  his  (then)  apprecia- 
tion in  England  and  America, 
233;  on  the  death  of  Count 
Cavour,  236 

Browning,  Mr.  Robert  Wiedemann 
Barrett  (the  poet's  son) :  his 
birth,  154;  incidents  of  his 
childhood,  189,  203  sqq.',  his 
pet-name — Penini,  Peni,  Pen — 
203 ;  in  charge  of  ]\Iiss  Isa 
Blagden  on  his  mother's  death, 
238;  taken  to  England  by  his 
father,  242 ;  manner  of  his 
education,  246,  247 ;  studying 
art  in  Antwerp,  293;  with  liis 
father  in  Venice  (1885),  340; 
his  marriage,  375;  purchase  of 
the  Rezzonico  Palace  (Venice), 
386 ;  portraits  of  his  father,  18  «., 
416,  417  ;  on  his  father's  health, 
387  71. 

Browning,  Mrs.  E.  Barrett,  375, 
396,  400 

Browning.  Mr.  Robert  Jardine 
(Crown  Prosecutor  in  New  South 
Wales),  76  n. 


Browning  Hall,  Walworth,  17  n. 
Browning  Society,  the,  326-332 
Brownlow,  Lord,  289 
Bruce,  Lady  Augusta„'201 
Bruce,  Lady  Charlotte  (wife  of  Mr. 

F.  Locker),  16 
Buckstone,  Mr.  (actor),  185 
Buloz,  M.,  171 
Burne  Jones,  Mr.  (afterwards  Sir 

E.),  222,  224 
Burns,  Major  (son  of  the  poet),  125 

Caltfornian   Railway    time-table 

edition    of    Browning's    poems, 

333  n. 
Cambo,  250 
Cambridge,    Browning's    visit    to, 

297 
Campbell  Dykes.  Mr.  J.,  12  n.,  32, 

35,  60  n.,  122,  327 
Carduoci,  Countess  (Rome),  127 
Carlisle,     Earl     of,     sketches     of 

Browning  by,  275  n..  416 
Carlyle,  T.,  18,  77,  125,  144,   165 

fqq.,  262.  .346 
Carlyle,   Mrs.   T.,   125,   (anecdote) 

346  n. 
Carnarvon,  Lord,  289 
Carnival  masquerade,  a,  207 
Cartwright,    Mr.     and     Mrs.    (of 

Aynhoe),  221  sq.,  228,  289 
Casa  Guidi  (Browning's  residence 

at  Florence),  149,  261 
Cattermole,  Mr.,  79 
Cavoiir,  Count,  death  of,  235  sq. 
Chambe'ry,  316 
Channel,     Mr.     (afterwards      Sir 

William),  and  Frank,  29  n. 
Chapman   &    Hall,   Messrs.   (pub- 
lishers), 177,  254 
Cholmondeley,  Mr.  (Condover),  289, 

321,  346 
Chorley,  Mr.,  152 
Cini,  Dr.  (Venice).  400,  401 
Clairvoyance,  an  instance  of,  213 
Coddington,  Miss  Fannie:  see  Mis. 

R.  Bariett  Browning 
Colvin,  Mr.  Sidney,  219 
Corkran,  Mrs.  Fraser,  12, 174 
Coruaro,  Catharine,  390,  391,  395 


428 


INDEX 


CornhUl  Magazine,    121,    249    n., 

278 
Corson,  Professor,  330 
Croisic,  Le,  264,  265 
Crosse,  Mrs.  Andrew,  12  n. 
*'Croxairs  Fables,"  Browning's  early 

fondness  for.  26 
Curtis,  ]\lr.,  315 
Curtis,  R.,  portrait  by,  416 

Dale,  Mr.  (actor),  84 

Davidson,  Captain  (of  tbe  "  Norham 

Castle,"  1838),  90,  95 
Davies,  Rev,  Llewellyn,  330 
Dickens,  Charles,  78,  111,  118,  346 
Domett,  Alfred,  45,  46,  103,   281, 

346 
Dourlans,  M.  Gustave,  176,  312 
Dow,  W.  A.,  61  n. 
Dowson,  C,  46  n.,  62 
Doyle,  Sir  Francis  H.,  258 
Duclaux,  Jladame,  119 
Dufferin,  Lord,  274,  275 
Dulwich  Grallery,  47 

Eclectic  Beview,    the    (review    of 

Browning's  works),  104 
Eden,  Mr.  Frederic,  315 
Edinburgh    University,    honorary 

degree  from,  338 
Egerton-Smith,  Miss,  290  sqq.  302 
Elgin,  Lady,  16,  200,  201,  216 
Elstree  (Macready's  residence),  79 
Elton,  Mr.  (actor),  117 
Engadine,  the,  343,  377 
Examiner  (review  of   Faracelsus), 

72 

Fano,  150  sq. 

Faucit,  Miss  Helen,  as  Lady  Carl- 
isle in  Strafford,  85;  as  Mildred 
in  A  Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon,  115, 
117;  as  Colombe  in  Colombe's 
Birthday,  118,  185,  186.  See 
Martin,  Lady 

Fiori,  Margherita  (Browning's 
nurse),  401 

Fisher,  Mr.  W.,  portrait  by,  191, 415 

Fitzgerald,  Mr.  Edward,  396 

Pitz-Gerald,  Mrs.,  192 


Florence,  145  sqq.,  157,  158,  177, 

184, 193,  251,  261,  276 
Flower,  Miss  Eliza,  31,  34,  35,  85 
Flower,  Miss  Sarah,  32,  34 
Flower.   Mr.    Benjamin   (editor  of 

the  Cambridije  Intelligencer^,  35 
Fontainebleau,  289 
Forbes,  C,  portrait  by,  416 
Forster,  Mr.  John,  5*8,  72,  80,  82, 

112,  118,124,  140,254,346 
Fortia.  Marquis  de,  76 
Fox,  Miss  Caroline,  101 
Fox,  Miss  Sarah,  85 
Fox,  Mr.  W.  J.,  31,  35,  52,  56,  72, 

96,  182.  214,  215 
Furnivall,  Dr.,  2,  6,  326,  327,  329 

Gaisford,   Mr.,  and    Lady  Alice, 

289 
Galuppi,  Baldassaro,  339  n. 
Gibraltar,  94 

Giles,  Major,  last  portrait  of  Brown- 
ing by,  417 
Ginnasi,  Count  (Ravenna),  213 
Giustiniani  -  Recanati,        Palazzo 

(Venice),  314 
Gladstone,  Mr.  258,  355 
Glasgow,  University  of,  298 
Goldoni,  Browning's  sonnet  to,  340 
Goltz,   M.   (Austrian    Minister  at 

Rome),  192 
Gordigiani,  portrait  by,  416 
Gosse,  Mr.  E.,  Personalia,  61,  102, 

104,  109,  119 
Green,  Mr.  T.  H  ,  296 
Gressoney  Saint-Jean,  312,  313 
Gue'rande  (Brittany),  265 
Guidi  Palace  (Casa  Guidi),  149 
Gurney,  Rev.  Archer,  78 

Hanmer,  Sir  John  (afterwards  Lord 

Hanmer),  78 
Ha  worth,  Mis^  Euphrasia  Fanny, 

80,  101,  346 
Haworth,  Mr.  Frederick,  80 
Hawthorne,  Xathaniel,  203 
Hevermans,  M.  (artist;  Antwerp), 

293 
Hickey,  Miss  E.  H„  63  n.,  326,  335 


INDEX 


429 


Hill,    Mr.   Frank  (editor    of    the 

Daily  News,  1884),  110,  115 
Hood,  Thomas,  120 
Home,  R.  H.,  78 
Hugo,  Victor,  172 
Huut,  Leigh,  78 

loif ;  the  Ion  supper,  81 

James,  Mr.  Henry,  257  n. 

Jamtpon,  Mrs.  Anna,  138,  142 

Jebb-Dyke,  Mrs..  174 

Jerninghara,  Miss,  68 

Jersey.  172 

Jewsbury,  Miss  Geraldine,  165 

Joachim,  Profeseor.  297 

Jones,  Mr.  Edward  Burne,  222,224 

Jones,  Eev.  Thomas,  48,  248 

Jowett,  Dr.,  266,  295,  296,  385 

Kean,  Charles,  418 

Kean,  Edmund,  49 

Keats,  38 

Keepsake,  The,  198 

Kemble,  Fanny,  190  sqq. 

Kenvon,  Mr.  John,  12,  97,  98,  129, 

140,  202,  203 
King,  Mr.  Juseph,  118  n. 
Kingslev,  Charles,  182 
Kirkup,"Mr.  162,  211,  370  n. 
Knight.  Professor  (St.  Andrews), 

98,  298 

Lamaetine.  M.  de,  171 

Lamb,  Cbarles,  303 

Landor,    Walter    Savage,   81,   98, 

219  sqq.,  223  sqq.,  370  n. 
La  Saisiaz,  293,  300 
Layard,  Sir  Henry  and  Lady,  315, 

317 
Legros,  portrait  by,  417 
Lehmann,  iiudolf,  portrait  by,  415, 

416 
Leighton,  Mr. ,  (afterwards   Lord), 

32,   217,  220,  238;    portrait  by, 

415 
Le  Strange,  Mrs.  Guy,  228 
Lewis,  Miss  (Harpton),  330 
Literary  Gazette  (review  of  PaU' 

line),  60  n. 


Literary    World,   of   Boston,  U.S. 

(on  Colomhe's  Birthday),  119 
Llangollen,  344,  345,  382 
Llantysilio  Church,  345 
Lloyd,  Captain,  77 
Locker,    Mr.    F.   (afterwards    Mr. 

Locker-Lampson),  15 
Lockhart,  Mr.  J.  G.,  191 
Lucca,  Bagni  di,  157,  187,  208 
Lyons,  Mr.  (son  of  Sir  Edmund), 

192 
Lytton,  Mr.  (afterwards  Lord),  194 

208 

Maclise,  Mr.  (artist),  121,  124 
Macready,  Mr.,  79,  82,  109  sqq. 
Macready,  Willy  (eldest  son  of  the 

actor) :    his   illustrations  to  the 

Pied  Piper,  122 
Mahony,    Eev.    Francis   ("Father 

Prout"),  152 
Manning,     Rev.    Dr.     (afterwardi 

Cardinal),  229 
Manzoni  Palace  (Venice),  3il  sq. 
Martin,  Lady,  115  sqq.,  185,  344, 

381 
Martin,  Sir  Theodore,  344 
Martineau,  IMiss,  81,  89,  96,  100 
Marylebone  Church,  Browning  mar- 
ried at,  139;  subsequent  visits  to 

it,  164 
Masson,  Prof  D.,  338 
Melvill,     Rev.      H.      (afterwards 

Canon),  18,  48 
Meredith,  Mr.  George,  330 
IMers,  292 

Mill,  Mr.  J.  S.,  56,  66,  266 
Milnes,  Mr.  Monckton  (afterwards 

Lord  Houghton),  78,   147,   172, 

347 
Milsand,  M.  Joseph,  173  sqq.,  275 

sqq.,  281,  (death)  345 
Minich,  Dr.  (Venice),  401 
Mitford,  Miss,  82,  87,  131,  142,  194 
Mocenigo,  Countess  (Venice),  317 
Mohl,  Madame,  165,  201 
Montalba,  Miss  H„  portrait  by,  417 
Monthly   Repository,     54,     59,     72, 

(Browning's  contributions  to)  61 
Moore,  Mrs.  Bloomfield,  343,  377 


430 


INDEX 


Morgan,  Lady,  147 
Morison,  Mr.  James  Cotter,  330 
Mortimer,  Mr.,  283  sqj.,  409 
Moschelt  8,  F.,  portrait  liy,  417 
Moxon,  Mr.  (pubiisiier),  64,  65, 104, 

112,  177 
Murray,  Misa  Alma  (actress),  118 
Musset,  Allied  and  Paul  de,  171 

Naples,  128 

Natorp,  G.,  medallion  by,  417 

Nenciuni,  Professor  (Florence),  338 

Nettleship,  Mr.  J.  T.,  327 

New  Shakespere  Society,  336 

Noel,  Mr.  Koden,  408 

Ogle,  Dr.  John,  258 

Ogle,  MisB  (author  of  A  Lost  Love), 

251 
Osbaldistone,    Mr.     (manager     of 

Covent  Garden  Theatre,    1836), 

85 
OsBoli,  Countess  Margaret  Fuller, 

161,  162 
Oxford,  265,  266,  (Browning's  visit 

to,  1S77)  295 

Page,  W.,  portrait  by,  414 

Pal-rave,  Mr.  Francis,  257 

Palgrave,  Mr  Keginald,  257 

Pans,  164,  200 

Patterson,  Monsig.nor,  258 

Pennington,  H.,  portrait  by,  416 

Phelps,  :\lr.  (actor),  112,  116,  152 

Pirate-ship,  wreck  of,  92 

Pisa.  142  i^qq. 

Poetical  contest,  a  Roman,  225 

Pollock,  Sir  W.  F.,  (1843),  109 

Pornic,  255,  256 

Powell,  Mr.  Thomas,  32,  122 

Power,  Miss  (editor  of  The  Keep- 
sake), U»8 

Powers,  Mr.  (American  sculptor), 
146 

Primiero,  381  sqq. 

Priiisep,  Mr.  Val,  127, 211,  224  sqq., 
312 

Pritchard,  Captain,  77 

Procter,  Mr.  Bryan  Waller  (Barry 
Cornwall),  78,  254,  346,  370  n. 


QuAiRE,  Madame  du,  234,  235,  247 
Quarles'  Emblemes,  30 

Eavenna,  324 

Reade  (artist),  portrait  by,  414 

Ready,  the  two  Misses,  preparatory 

fcchool,  24,  27 
Ready,  Rev.  Thomas  (Browning's 

first  schoolmaster),  24,  27-29 
Re  if  an,  Miss,  275 
Reid,  Mr.  Andrew,  354 
Relfe,  Mr.  John  (musician),  41 
Rezzonico  Palace  (Venice),  the,  8, 

3S6 
Richmond,  Rev.  Thomas,  257 
Ripert-JHonclar,  Count  de,  67,  76, 

9."^,  96,  356  :  portrait  by,  414 
Robertson,    Mr.    John    (editor    of 

Wedminster  Review,  1838),  88 
Robinson,  Miss   Mary  (afterwards 

Mme.  Duclaux),  119 
Rome,  197  sqq.,  228  sqq. 
Rossetti,  Dante  Gabriel,  60,    183. 

Portrait  of  Browning,  184,  415; 

of  Tennyson,  195;  death  of  his 

wife,  248 
Rousseau,  J.  J.,  316 
Ruskin,  John,  182 
Ruisell,  Lady  William,  228 
Russell,  Mr.  O.lo  (afterwards  Lord 

Ampthill),  228,  231 

Sabatier,  Madame,  286 

St.  Andrews  University,  266,  298, 

338 
St.  Aubin,(M.  Milsand's  residence), 

275  sq.,  286 
St.  Euogat  (near  Dinard),  244,  249 
St.  Moritz,  343,  377 
St.  Pierre  la  Chartreuse,  312  sq. ;  a 

tragic  occurrence  there,  318  sqq. 
Sale've,  the,  293,  301 
Sand,  George,  168-171 
Sandys,  F.,  portrait  by,  416 
Sartoris,  Mrs.,  190,  194,  200 
Saunders  &  Otley,  Messrs.,  51,  65 
Scott,  Rev.  Dr.  (Master  of  Balliol, 

1867),  266 
Scotti,  Mr.,  126 


INDEX 


431 


Scottish  Art  Review,  the,  Mr.  Mor- 
timer's "  Note  on  Browning"  in, 
283  sqq. 

Seravezza,  157 

Sharp,  Mr.  W.,  37,  199,  366, 407  sqq. 

Shelley,  38  sqq-,  59,  (Browninu:'a 
Essay  on)  177  sqq.,  (his  grave) 
190 

Shrewsbury,  Lord,  289 

Sidgwick,Mr.  A.,  329 

Siena,  218,  223,  229 

Silverthome,  James.  46 

Silverthorne,  Mrs.  46,  51 

Simeon,  Sir  John,  258 

Smith,  Miss  (second  wife  of  the 
poet's  grandfather),  4 

Smith,  Mr.  George  Murray,  249  n., 
268 

Soutliey,  98 

Spezzia,  157 

Spiritualism,  209  sqq. 

Spliigen,  308 

Stanley,  Dean,  346 

Stanley,  Lady  Augusta.  201,  346 

Stendhal,  Henri,  127,  145 

Sterling,  Mr.  John,  101 

Stirling,  Mrs.  (actress),  115 

Story,  Julian,  portrait  by,  416 

Story,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  William,  47, 
IbO,  186,  1{<9,  217  sqq.,  227,  242 
«.,  244  7t„  27o,  316,416 

Sturtevant,  Miss,  35 

Sue,  Eugene,  144 

Tablets,  Memorial,  345,  403 
Tail's  Magazine,  56 
Talfourd,  Field,  portrait  by,  415 
Talfourd,  Serjeant,  77,  81,  106 
Taylor,  Sir  Henry,  65,  280 
Tenny.-on,  Alfred,  (afterwards  Lord 

Tennyson),  182,  195.  196,  262 
Tennyson,  Frederick,  194 
Thackeray,  Miss  Annie,  286 
Thackeray,  W.  M.,  190,  346 
Thaster,  Mrs.  Celia  (Boston,  U.S.), 

3^ 


Thax*  T,  Mr.  Levi,  333-335 

Thomson,  Mr.  James :  his  appli- 
cation of  the  term  "  Gothic  "  to 
Browning's  work,  100  n. 

Tittle,  Miss  Margaret,  4,  6,  8 

Trelawny,  Mr.  E.  J.,  127 

Trifler,  The  (amateur  magazine), 
62 

True  Sun,  the  (review  of  Strafford), 
84 

Untvebso,  Hotel  deir  (Venice),  311 

Vallombrosa,  145 

Venice,  93,  163,  311,  314,  317,  340, 

397 
Villers,  293 
Vigna,  Dr.  da  (Venice),  401 

Wagneb,  317 

Wales,  Prince  of  (now  H.  M.  King 

Edward  VII.).  218 
Warburton,  Mr.  Eliot,  78 
Watts,  Dr..  28  n. 
Watts,  G.  F.,  portrait  by,  416 
Westminster.  Dean  of   (Bradley), 

401,  404 
Widman,  Counts,  8 
Wiedemann.  Mr.  William,  18 
Williams,  Rev.  J.  D.  W.  (vicar  of 

Bottisham,  Cambs.),  355 
Wilson   (Mrs.    Browning's    maid), 

139,  145,  157,  159,  220  n.,  223 
Wilson,  Mr.  Effingham  (publisher), 

67 
Wiseman,  Mrs.  (mother  of  Cardinal 

Wiseman),  151 
Wolseley,  Lady,  322 
Wolseley,  Lord,  344 
Wood,  H.,  medallion  by,  415 
Woolner,  Mr.,  258  ;    medallion  by, 

415 
Wordsworth,   78,   81,   82,  98,  123, 

140,  336.  337 

Wordsworth  Society,  the,  336,  369 


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